Unexpectedly Blue
by ryagelle
Summary: Complete! In which Wheeljack discovers that love is usually found where you're not really looking. Slash, G1, sequel to Twinning the Hatchet and Cave Canem. All characters property of HasTak, not me.
1. Chapter 1

EDIT: ffn decided to eat part of my dialogue because of the way it was formatted; the fix makes ryagelle unhappy, but at least it's in there now x_x

* * *

"Ratchet's worried about you," Sideswipe said without preamble after invading Wheeljack's lab one evening. His brother was still being reconstructed in the medbay; Sunstreaker must have been out of danger if the red mech was willing to leave his twin and his bondmate to pester the engineer.

"Is he now?" Wheeljack asked noncommittally, not turning from his calculations. He had just finished his own stint in the medbay, and had only left because Sunstreaker was the last mech requiring repairs—Ratchet insisted on doing all of the work on him by himself.

"You know slagging well that he is," Sideswipe replied, irritated.

Wheeljack snorted. "I don't know why he would be," he said calmly, finally turning to face the Lamborghini.

"Yes you do," Sideswipe insisted, crossing his arms over his chestplate and narrowing his optics.

The engineer sighed. "Look, Sideswipe, don't you have anything better to do?" he asked wearily.

"Nope," the red twin said stubbornly.

"Go pester someone else," the engineer snapped, in no mood to deal with the red demon's eccentricities.

"I don't want to," was the petulant reply.

Wheeljack made an inarticulate noise of frustration.

"C'mon, 'Jack," Sideswipe wheedled. "Just tell me what's wrong. Maybe we can help?"

"I doubt that," the inventor said, giving his unwelcome guest a pointed look.

"Why n— Oh." Wheeljack could almost hear the gears turning in Sideswipe's head as he put two and two together. "It's not fair that you should be alone when Ratchet's with us, is it?" he asked softly, with uncanny perception. Wheeljack wondered if the medic were giving him pointers. "And Ratch's been spending so much time with us lately…" He trailed off uncertainly.

"Look, don't worry about me," Wheeljack insisted, pushing past the Lamborghini to head for the common room and get some energon.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sideswipe cried, catching his arm and, as Wheeljack watched curiously, he produced two brimming-full cubes from subspace and held them out to him. "Here," he said, "a peace offering." He smiled encouragingly when Wheeljack sighed and took one.

"You're bound and determined to be a pain in my tailpipe, aren't you?" the engineer asked, sounding resigned. He missed the hurt that flashed across Sideswipe's features—when he looked back up, the red twin had his usual 'I'm an idiot' grin plastered across his faceplate.

"Yup," he replied cheerfully.

"Did Ratchet put you up to this?" Wheeljack asked suspiciously.

"Maybe," Sideswipe's tone was unmistakably sly.

"I'll make sure to beat him for siccing you on me when I get hold of him, then," the Lancia grumbled half-heartedly. It eased some of the loneliness in his spark though, to know that his old friend still cared about him enough to send his bondmate to harass him about his well-being even when he himself couldn't come—and Wheeljack also had to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Sideswipe wasn't concerned for more than just Ratchet's sake, as well. After all, he _had_ always got on well with the red trickster, despite the pranks that Sideswipe tended to play on whoever caught his fancy at the moment.

Sideswipe laughed at him. "I'll hold him down for you," he offered, and Wheeljack couldn't help but chuckle.

Ratchet let himself into the lab just in time to hear the last two comments and said dryly, "You'll do it over my dead body—I'll sic Sunny on your afts. And you know that Sunstreaker has no problem with beating some manners into you, Sides." He patted the Lamborghini on the head and laughed when Sideswipe razzed him. Finally he turned to look expectantly at Wheeljack. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You know damn well 'what'!" Ratchet said testily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wheeljack needs a hug," Sideswipe commented blandly, ignoring the evil glare the inventor shot him. Wheeljack got a sinking feeling in his fuel tanks when the red mech's expression suddenly brightened. "I volunteer!" he announced, and pounced on the Lancia happily.

Wheeljack froze for a moment in Sideswipe's embrace, then sputtered and flailed, and somehow managed to shove the red warrior off while Ratchet just stood and gaped in stunned bemusement. "You fragging jerk!" Wheeljack snarled, glaring at Sideswipe, and didn't let himself think about how good it felt to have someone's—anyone's—arms around him for even a brief moment.

"That was a bit much, Sideswipe," Ratchet said, and the Lamborghini flinched a little at the medic's disapproving tone.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," Sides muttered, embarrassed. Wheeljack's expression softened despite himself.

"Yeah… I'm sorry—you just startled me, is all," he said, feeling uncomfortable. The awkward silence spread between them for a few more minutes, until both Ratchet and Sideswipe got that look on their faces that Wheeljack had come to realize meant they were communicating using their bond. Sideswipe looked questioningly at Ratchet, and left at the medic's nod.

"What was that about?" Wheeljack asked softly.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, Sunny's awake. He doesn't like to be left alone when he's injured, so Sides'll stay with him," Ratchet replied, equally soft. Wheeljack nodded thoughtfully, staring off into space.

He was startled when Ratchet gently touched his shoulder. "Are you sure you're alright, 'Jack?" the ambulance asked, all quiet concern.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Wheeljack murmured, not meeting his friend's optics.

"C'mon, now, 'Jack, don't give me that slag," the medic snorted. "We've been friends too long for that—I know when something's bothering you."

For half a moment, the engineer considered lying and insisting he was fine, but Ratchet was right. They'd been friends for too long to hide things from one another now.

"Slag me if I'm not jealous, Ratch," he confessed sheepishly, still not looking at his old friend. "I see what you've got with those slagging twins and—I want it, so bad I can _taste_ it. It's not that I'm not happy for you," he added hastily, seeing the startled look on Ratchet's face, "and Primus knows I'm glad that you've got someone to come home to at the end of the day—but… is it wrong for me to want something like that for myself?"

"No," Ratchet answered gently after a moment, and he put his arms around his friend. Wheeljack, for his part, allowed himself to be wrapped up in Ratchet's embrace without complaint.

Sideswipe abruptly stuck his head back in the door and scowled at them. "Hey, how come he rates a hug and I don't?" he asked the engineer irritably before the two of them could leap apart and pretend nothing had happened. "Never mind," he continued, waving off whatever reply they might have come up with. "You need to get out here, Ratch—Bluestreak's being too altruistic for his own good again. I caught him in the corridor trailing energon and coolant and trying to hide it."

"He _what?_" Wheeljack demanded, and they both rushed out into the hall where Sideswipe held the little gray Datsun captive by his doorwings.

"What the _frag_ do you think you're doing, Blue?" Ratchet demanded, already going over the gunner's frame and trying to find where he was leaking at.

"Umm… well, you see, I was just going to my quarters to clean up and rest and I didn't really want to bother you since Sunstreaker was hurt and can you please let go of my doors, Sideswipe?" Bluestreak babbled, glancing nervously between the medic and the engineer and clutching his arm suspiciously close to his side. Ratchet noticed the movement and pried the limb away, wincing when he saw the dirt ground into the gash at the top of the Datsun's waist.

"You, mister, are going to the medbay, and that's that," Ratchet said firmly, taking hold of Bluestreak's other arm and dragging him along behind as he started off down the hall. Somehow, he had the feeling that the youngling wouldn't follow him on his own. Sideswipe and Wheeljack tagged along, as well, and they made an odd little procession as Ratchet force-marched his unwilling patient to the medbay.

"You should have said something about this immediately," the CMO scolded Bluestreak as he all but shoved the uncharacteristically silent gunner up onto a repair table. "Any one of us could have repaired this for you. You didn't have to sit and let it fester. Now you've got dirt all through your fuel and probably your coolant systems and they'll have to be flushed." He doused a cloth in cleaning solution and began clearing the worst of the muddy debris out of the wound.

Wheeljack, seeing how badly Bluestreak was trembling, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you deserve to be repaired just as much as everyone else does—you're not bothering us if you're injured, Blue," he said, patting the young gunner comfortingly and earning a smile for his efforts.

The sudden shriek of monitoring equipment drew all optics to a nearby table, where Cliffjumper—one of the hardest hit in this battle—lay, recovering from his wounds.

"Frag!" Ratchet snarled, shoving the cleaning rag into Wheeljack's hands and heading for the minibot's side. "I had hoped that damned jury-rigged coolant pump would hold till we could get a new one…!"

"You can use one of mine," Sideswipe said quietly, startling the medic into staring at him incredulously.

"Are you crazy?" Ratchet demanded, hurriedly unfastening Cliffjumper's chest armor.

"No," the Lamborghini snorted. "And I'm not suicidal, either—but I _am_ a warrior model, and you know just as well as I do that I have several redundant systems built in to keep me from bleeding out so easily. And before you ask, that's about as much as I know about my tech specs, too. Now take the damn pump," and he undid the clasps on a section of his own armor, revealing a small, secondary coolant pump.

"You don't even like Cliffjumper," the medic muttered, even as he drew another repair table over beside the minibot's and directed Sideswipe to lie on it.

"Doesn't mean I'll stand by and let the little pipsqueak die," Sideswipe replied levelly, obeying his bondmate's commands without question or hesitation.

Ratchet just grunted in reply, but his movements were no longer so hurried and stressed as he crimped the ends of the coolant lines leading into the little pump in his lover's chest and pulled it out. Coolant from the pump spilled across his hands and into Sideswipe's open armor, but neither paid it any mind as Ratchet turned his attention to the rapidly overheating minibot.

Wheeljack and Bluestreak stared at the exchange for a few moments, and then looked at each other in blank disbelief.

Had they actually seen Sideswipe willingly donate a part to a minibot?

Wheeljack just shook his head—he supposed stranger things had happened. "Well, Blue, looks like I'll be the one fixing you this time," he said, and suited actions to words by gently taking up where Ratchet had left off and finishing the removal of the mess still in the gunner's innards. "I'll start flushing your lines as soon as we get these leaks taken care of," he added, forcing himself to be cheerful for Bluestreak's sake. "Won't take but a few minutes." Bluestreak nodded in acceptance.

True to his word, it did not take Wheeljack long to finish mending the rent in the gunner's side and flush the dirt out of his systems. Ratchet was running a few final scans on Cliffjumper to make sure that his new coolant pump was working properly before refastening Sideswipe's armor. He nodded to his friend once he was done and led the red Lamborghini back to their quarters where the convalescing Sunstreaker waited for them, and suddenly the two of them were alone but for the injured recharging in their berths.

"Alright, Bluestreak, you're good as new!" the inventor said, letting the Datsun up off of the table and wishing he could at least smile at the nervous young Autobot. _Something_ must have shown through on his features, though, because Bluestreak visibly relaxed a little and beamed at the Lancia gratefully.

"H-hey, Wheeljack?" the gunner asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Well… Well, I was wondering… Maybe you—"

"C'mon, spit it out, Blue," Wheeljack said patiently, patting Bluestreak's shoulder once again.

"W-would-you-please-stay-with-me-tonight?" the younger 'Bot blurted out in a rush, looking away from Wheeljack with a wince when the engineer gaped at him. "I-I mean, it's nothing bad, but it's just that Hound is staying with Mirage tonight because he got hurt and I just don't like being by myself and I was thinking maybe you could stay in his berth and…" His shoulders slumped dejectedly. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he added miserably.

Wheeljack just stared at him for a minute, unsure of what to do, before pity overruled everything else at the sight of Bluestreak standing there looking so defeated. "C'mon, Blue," he said sympathetically, "I've got an extra berth in my quarters—I'll fix it up for you, and you can stay there. I don't mind." Poor thing, he was probably afraid he would have nightmares, judging from the way he was acting.

"Really?" Bluestreak breathed, doorwings twitching hopefully.

"Yeah—you're welcome anytime you want," Wheeljack reassured him, putting an arm around his shoulders (mindful of the wings) and leading the younger mech to his quarters.

It didn't take long to clean the dust off of the spare 'charge pad in his room, and he soon had Bluestreak settled comfortably. He had lain down on his own berth and was just beginning to initiate his own recharge cycle when the Datsun spoke his name again.

"Yes, Blue?" the engineer asked patiently.

"Would you…talk to me? Hound always talks to me, 'cause sometimes I have trouble recharging after a f-fight…"

Wheeljack sat up to look at his new roommate. "What should I talk about?"

Bluestreak shrugged. "Whatever you want," he replied shyly, smiling sweetly at his companion.

"Alright," the inventor murmured softly. "I guess…well, I could tell you about the project I'm working on…"

The Datsun nodded. "That sounds good," he said agreeably, so Wheeljack launched into a rambling explanation of the intricacies of his latest device—and he only got about halfway through when he realized that the young gunner was recharging soundly.

With a soft chuckle, Wheeljack stopped talking and lay back down, initiating his own recharge cycle; it wasn't long until he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This one fought me tooth and nail, so I enlisted aid: this chapter is co-written by my twin sister, so show her some love, too. XD

(And 27 reviews for one chapter! Heck yeah! Ya'll are awesome!) Much love also to VAWitch for beta-ing. XD

EDIT: GAH! I almost forgot! Cas, I loved one of your remarks so much that it makes an appearance in this chapter; you'll know which one it is. ;p

* * *

Wheeljack was only mildly surprised to see Bluestreak peek into his lab the next morning. His head swiveled, searching for the engineer amidst the organized clutter of his workshop, and he brightened visibly when he spotted him. He let himself fully into the room as soon as he realized that Wheeljack had seen him, and stood just inside the doorway for a minute, fidgeting nervously. 

Finally, he spoke. "I, uh, wanted to say thank you—you know, for letting me stay with you last night. I, um, well… I really appreciate it. I don't think I could have made myself recharge if I'd been by myself, and, um, well, you didn't have to do that and I—just, you know, thank you." He ducked his head, seeming embarrassed. He looked about to say more, but Wheeljack, having had prior experience in carrying on a conversation with Bluestreak, interrupted him.

"It's nothin', Blue, don't you worry about it. Like I said, you're welcome anytime," the engineer said, doing his best, with the facemask on, to give the gunner an encouraging expression.

"You really mean it, Wheeljack?" Bluestreak asked happily. "Because that would be—"

"Would I have said it—twice—if I didn't?" Wheeljack replied, walking over to clap the younger mech on the shoulder. "Any time you need help, you just come and see ol' 'Jack, and I promise I won't turn you away." It was only natural to the inventor to want to extend his aid to anyone in need of it, and there was something indefinable about the young Datsun that made Wheeljack think that he definitely needed it.

Bluestreak nodded vigorously. "Will do!" he said cheerfully, altogether grateful for the engineer's kindness.

"How's the side?" Wheeljack asked, hoping to head off another round of rambling 'thank-yous'.

"My side?" Bluestreak echoed, blinking a little. "Oh, yeah, it's a lot better, thank you, just a little sore where the fresh welds are but I guess that's normal, huh?" He paused for a moment as though thinking about something. "Oh, hey, look at that, my fuel levels are getting kinda low—guess I forgot to refuel yesterday after, you know, the battle. I should probably go to the common room and get a cube of energon. Wanna come?" He looked so sweetly hopeful that Wheeljack hadn't the spark to turn him down, so he nodded and began putting his work away.

Bluestreak positively beamed, and Wheeljack realized that, though most everyone_ liked_ Blue, they didn't necessarily want to carry on a conversation with him. Cliffjumper had once called him the 'Living Run-On Sentence', and the inventor had to admit that talking to the Datsun could sometimes be a chore. Unfortunately, most of the mechs who _would_ carry on any kind of lengthy discussion with the gunner—namely the twins, Hound, Prowl, Jazz, and Bumblebee—were either laid up or on duty.

_Poor thing must be terribly lonely,_ Wheeljack thought sympathetically. Aloud, he said, "Alright, Blue, let's go," as he put away the last of his blueprints.

He only listened with one audio receptor to Bluestreak's happy chatter as they made their way down the hall to the common room, nodding and making the appropriate noises where required. They were both surprised to see that Sideswipe was the only other 'Bot in the room; everyone else must've already gotten their rations—then Wheeljack checked the time and realized that, yes, of course everyone else would have been through by this hour.

Sideswipe nodded to them and indicated that they should come and sit with him once they had retrieved their cubes, and he and Bluestreak greeted each other, if not cheerfully, at least with smiles.

"Hey, Sides, how's Sunny?" the gunner asked, genuinely concerned, and Sideswipe's smile became a grimace.

"Whining like a little brat about his ruined paint, but he's alive thanks to you," the Lamborghini replied, and he clapped Blue on the shoulder gratefully.

Bluestreak stammered embarrassed protestations, but Sideswipe wouldn't hear of it. "Blue here shot Ramjet clear out of the sky just as he was about to strafe me and Sunny. Of course, it wouldn't have been so bad if Sunny weren't already down…but in any case, he saved our hides," he told Wheeljack.

"It was just a lucky shot," the Datsun mumbled, flustered by the praise and ducking his head. Sideswipe started to say more, but they were all distracted by the entrance of another mech—Cliffjumper.

The little red Porsche marched right up to their table to stare at Sideswipe as though sizing him up. Sideswipe, for his part, stared right back, looking confused and a little wary.

"I've been told," the confrontational red minibot said slowly, "that it's thanks to you that I'm walking around right now." He regarded Sideswipe for a long moment, apparently deliberating whether to do something—and finally, carefully, he offered his hand to the larger red mech. "Thanks," he said quietly, shaking Sideswipe's hand firmly when the surprised Lamborghini accepted the proffered gesture. Then he about faced, strode over to the energon dispenser to get himself a cube, and marched on out. The three left in the room stared at each other in blank shock.

"Did Cliffjumper just..." Sideswipe said incredulously.

"I think so…" Wheeljack replied, equally stunned.

"Man, he said thanks!" Bluestreak said wonderingly. "I wish I'd thought to record that—no one is ever gonna believe it. Cliffjumper almost never says thanks to _anyone_ even if they deserve it—"

"I just _saw_ it, and I don't believe it," Sideswipe muttered. "Though I guess saving someone's life is enough to earn thanks even from Cliffjumper." He suddenly cocked his head to the side in a 'listening' pose, and then grimaced as his attention turned back to them. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he grumbled, moving to stand. "Well, as much fun as it's been, I'm being paged. His Royal Highness the Dandelion of Despair wants his energon, and he can't walk far enough yet to get it. Not to mention Ratchet's taking _his_ side." He shook his head. "The things I do for him…" and he got up, filled two cubes, and took himself off to his quarters.

Bluestreak watched him with a strange, almost wistful expression as he left, and Wheeljack eyed him curiously.

"What's the matter, Blue?" the engineer asked gently.

The Datsun started, looking at Wheeljack with wide optics. "Oh, uh… well, it's nothing really…" He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Now don't give me that, Blue, I can tell that something's bothering you," Wheeljack admonished his companion.

For a minute, he thought that the gunner wouldn't answer him, and then, in a small voice, he murmured, "Don't you ever envy how happy they are together? I don't think I'm ever really happy anymore." He laughed a little, though it sounded forced. "It's pretty stupid, isn't it? To be envious of someone because they're happy?"

"No, I don't think it's stupid," Wheeljack replied quietly, and couldn't help but brighten when Bluestreak smiled at him in return.

"You know, I think that this is the longest I've ever spent time with you," the Datsun commented from out of the blue, still smiling. "And you never once told me to shut up," he added. The inventor winced a bit at the matter-of-factness with which Bluestreak said that—no one had the right to tell him to shut up so rudely. He was, after all, such a sweet youngling, even if he did have problems with keeping his vocalizer mute.

"Bluestreak, do me a favor," he said seriously.

"What's that?"

"If I ever tell you to shut up, give me a good kick, alright?"

Bluestreak regarded him a little warily. "Ooo-kay," he replied, doubtfully.

"I mean it, Blue—anyone willing to be _that_ rude needs a good kick," he said firmly, and Bluestreak nodded hesitantly.

"A-alright," the gray Datsun murmured softly, doorwings twitching. "I can do that, I think…"

"Good," the inventor said, satisfied. "Now, did you have any plans for today?" he asked, a determination to see the gunner happy for at least a little while forming in his CPU; and it was not like he had anything super-important to work on at the moment, anyway.

"Not really, no… I mean, I thought I'd borrow some games from Sides and go to my room and play them for a while, but I didn't really have anything in particular in mind to do today, 'cause I'm not on duty so I have some free time on my hands, and I—"

Wheeljack cut him off gently. "It just so happens," he said, "that I have already borrowed some of Sideswipe's games, and I need someone to play them with me. They're just not as much fun unless you've got a partner." He eyed Bluestreak, waiting to see if the boy understood the invitation for what it was, before adding, just to make it a little clearer, "Since you don't have anything in particular to do, would you like to come play them with me?"

"You really want me to?" Bluestreak asked eagerly, optics wide.

"Sure! I didn't really have any plans for today, either, so, you know…" He shrugged. "Why not?"

The gunner frowned. "But I thought you were working on that, uh, that whatchamacallit that you had out in your lab this morning—um, not that I'm complaining or anything, but I didn't want to keep you from anything important…"

"It's not _that_ important," he assured him. "Just a lil something I've been tinkering with. It'll keep 'til tomorrow." He stood, gathered up their empty energon cubes, and put them away over Bluestreak's protests that he could get his own. "Now, come on!" he added, and pulled the Datsun to his feet and out of the room.

* * *

Wheeljack had to admit he had not had so much fun in ages. 

They had spent the majority of the day playing video games, laughing and jeering at each other by turns. Ratchet, still concerned for his friend, had dropped in at some point, and they had dragged him into their game as well—and he, in turn, had dragged Sideswipe into it. Sunstreaker didn't join in because, according to his brother and Ratchet, he was out cold and wouldn't even know they were gone, anyway.

Eventually, however, they all ended up sprawled out on whatever piece of furniture was handy at the time, just talking aimlessly and enjoying each other's company.

"It's getting late," Ratchet remarked, glancing at Sideswipe, who blinked back sleepily.

"Mm-hmm," Wheeljack murmured in agreement.

"Hey, look—Blue's completely out," Sideswipe said, sounding amused as he regarded the gunner recharging on Wheeljack's spare berth. "Should we wake him?"

The engineer gazed at the Datsun thoughtfully for a moment. "Nah," he replied at length. "Just let him be. He'll be alright, right where he's at."

"Poor kid," Sideswipe murmured. "He needs more people to watch out for him." The Lamborghini got a sly look in his optics. "You know, people like you, 'Jack." The Lancia stared at him, bemused.

Ratchet chuckled and cuffed the red warrior on the side of the head affectionately. ::Looks like Sideswipe the Matchmaker is at it again,:: he sent across the bond.

::What? He's lonely. Blue's lonely. I'm just giving them a little nudge,:: Sideswipe sent, giving his lover his best innocent look.

Ratchet just arched a brow ridge at the red hellion and shook his head. "C'mon, Sides, we'd better get out of here before the Sunflower wakes up without us," he said aloud.

"Yeah, we'd hate for him to miss us," Sideswipe said with snide amusement. "It's been fun, Wheeljack."

"Come over anytime," the engineer said, vocal indicators flashing happily as he walked with them to the door.

With his friends gone, Wheeljack turned to the recharging Datsun, resting peacefully on the spare berth. His wistful smile was hidden by his faceplate. "Rest well, kid," he murmured gruffly, before lying down and initiating his own recharge cycle.

* * *

Wheeljack was jolted out of recharge by the sound of a loud, fearful cry. Disoriented, he sat bolt upright and searched frantically for the source. Looking to the spare berth, he saw Bluestreak curled up on his side, shivering violently and keening, obviously the origin of the noise. 

It took Wheeljack a moment to realize that the Datsun was still offline; the young gunner seemed to be in the grip of a terrifying nightmare. Concerned, the Lancia slipped out of his berth and padded over to Bluestreak's, intent on waking or at least soothing him.

"Blue?" he asked hesitantly, laying a hand on the gunner's shoulder, just above the doorwing, and shaking him gently. "Hey, Bluestreak, you okay?"

The strength of the younger mech's response startled the engineer; Bluestreak abruptly sat up and launched himself into Wheeljack's arms, making little choked noises that sounded suspiciously like sobs, though Cybertronians could not actually cry.

At a bit of a loss as to what to do, Wheeljack settled for awkwardly patting the gunner's back and murmuring soothing nonsense into his audios. He tried not to wince at the strength with which Bluestreak clutched at him; the Datsun's arms were like a vise around his middle.

Gradually Bluestreak's terror diminished, until, with a little hiccupping cough through his vents, he pulled away from Wheeljack in embarrassment. "Sorry I don't usually act like that you must think I'm some kind of spoiled sparkling—," he rattled off so quickly that the Lancia had a hard time understanding him.

"I don't think anything of the sort," Wheeljack interrupted him gently. "What I do think is that something is bothering you pretty bad. Want to talk about it?"

"No," the Datsun said abruptly, and turned away from the other mech's searching gaze.

Wheeljack's earfins flickered in astonishment. _There's something the garrulous Bluestreak won't talk about? Must be pretty bad, _he thought. "Listen," he said hesitantly. "If you ever change your mind, I'll still be here. Okay?" The gunner nodded uncertainly, glancing up to meet Wheeljack's optics once more.

"I should probably get back to my own room, I don't want to interrupt your recharge any more than I already have, I'll be fine by myself—," Bluestreak began babbling once more.

"You're staying right here," Wheeljack said firmly. No way was he going to let the poor boy stay by himself after what had happened tonight. The Lancia was no psychologist, but he was pretty sure that leaving Bluestreak alone would only traumatize the Datsun even further.

"Well if you really don't mind," Bluestreak said, giving in with palpable relief.

"I don't mind," Wheeljack said warmly. "In fact, I insist. Try to get some more rest, okay?"

"Okay," the Datsun said, his optics already starting to flicker with weariness. He lay back down on the berth, and Wheeljack sat by him until he was sure the younger mech was fully offline before seeking out his own berth with a soft sigh.

He lay online for a long time afterward, unable to help trying to puzzle out the conflicted mess that was Bluestreak. Outwardly, the gunner was friendly, open, and cheerfully talkative. Inwardly—Wheeljack was beginning to think that he was a raw and open wound, and unless he could get the Datsun to talk about what was bothering him, he wasn't sure what he could do to help him.

Well, if there was anything Wheeljack loved, it was a good challenge, and it would certainly be challenging to get Bluestreak to open up to him.

Mulling it over in his mind, he eventually fell into an uneasy recharge.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Apologies for the lateness of this; college and repairing everyone's computers has taken up most of my time for the last little bit. (I don't know what Sister's excuse is, and she'll probably beat me when she reads that, too. .;)

Thank you so much for all of the reviews—they are what keeps us going. XD

And special thanks to VAWitch, as always, for beta-ing.

* * *

Neither of them mentioned the nightmare the next day, and Bluestreak's relief at not being questioned about it was almost palpable. Wheeljack positively itched to press for details, certain he could help if only he knew the problem, but the gunner's obvious discomfort over the matter stayed the Lancia's vocalizer. That night, the younger mech recharged in his own room, since Mirage's return to duty had prompted Hound to go back to his own berth. The presence of the kindly scout meant Bluestreak wasn't alone in his quarters anymore; there was no longer any reason for the Datsun to stay with Wheeljack. 

Even after only two nights, his room felt a little emptier.

It puzzled Wheeljack, how he could have gotten used to having someone else there so quickly; he hadn't shared quarters with anyone since his academy days, when he had shared an apartment with Ratchet-though, granted, they had never recharged in the same _room_.

He supposed he had avoided a roommate on the Ark, where space had been dear even when the ship had been whole, because no one really wanted to be that close to his often-explosive inventions. It could also have been because they had installed him right next to his lab, where said inventions were stored.

Either way, he was considered a less-than-desirable roommate despite his easy-going nature, and that had suited him just fine.

Until now.

He moped and fretted and wondered about it all day, dreading having to go back to his empty room in the end, and he couldn't concentrate on his new designs at all. Finally, frustrated to the point of giving up for the day, he shoved it all into a drawer and looked up-and nearly leaped out of his chair in surprise when he saw Bluestreak standing in the doorway, just watching him. He'd obviously just come in off patrol.

And was it his imagination, or did the youngling seem more nervous than usual?

"Hey there, Blue, whatcha doing?" he asked cautiously, rearranging the datapads he'd scattered in his startlement.

The Datsun started, as though he hadn't really expected Wheeljack to speak. "Oh! Uh, I was just wondering if you might want some company… Um, that is, if you're not busy or anything… You know, you look pretty busy, I'll just go-" and he spun around, preparing to flee.

"No, wait!" Wheeljack called, bemused. "It's alright, I was just putting this stuff away, actually," he said when Bluestreak turned back around with a hopeful look on his face.

"Okay," the young gunner said awkwardly, with a shy little smile.

Putting away the rest of his datapads, Wheeljack led the Datsun out the door of the lab.

"Let's see who's off duty in the rec room, shall we…?"

As the air filled with Bluestreak's endless chatter, the engineer couldn't help but feel a little less alone.

* * *

The Lamborghini brothers were sitting on one of the couches in the common room, half-watching an action flick that they weren't even sure what the name of was, when Wheeljack wandered in with Bluestreak trailing behind him asking what seemed like a thousand questions that the engineer was patiently answering. Sideswipe nudged Sunstreaker, directing his twin's attention to the pair as they got themselves some energon and sat down at a table. 

"Look," the red twin said to his brother out of the corner of his mouth. "Little Blue's crushin' on Wheeljack somethin' fierce."

Sunstreaker regarded engineer and gunner somewhat disdainfully. "I don't care," he replied in a dismissive tone, turning back to the movie.

Sideswipe elbowed him sharply. When Sunstreaker protested, he hissed, "You _should_ care-Ratchet's been worried to death about 'Jack. He's afraid he's been neglecting him, and you _know_ how long they've been friends." The yellow mech just glared at his brother mulishly.

Sideswipe sighed. "Just think about it for a minute, slag-head. If Wheeljack takes a lover, then he won't be so lonely. And if he's not lonely-"

"-then Ratchet won't worry," Sunstreaker finished grudgingly. "I see where you're going with this, but that doesn't mean I'll go along with it. I will _not_ play matchmaker with you-you're on your own. Even if it _would_ make Ratchet happy," he added grimly. "I have my _own_ ways of making him happy, anyway," he muttered in a low voice, optics darkening.

"Sheesh, you're worse than I am," Sideswipe teased, poking his brother in the arm.

"Besides," Sunstreaker added thoughtfully, ignoring his brother's jibe, "Why are you so sure Blue is gonna be good for 'Jack? Anyone who really knows Bluestreak knows the kid's got major issues."

"Oooh, that's deep, bro," Sideswipe snickered.

"Shut up, aft-head," the yellow twin snarled. "That's the last time I give you advice."

"Ah, there's the vain sociopath I know and love," Sideswipe sighed dramatically, hugging his brother with a gleeful grin.

Sunstreaker growled and shoved him off, standing up to glare at his twin from a superior height. "I have better things to do than be insulted by you," he said angrily, and turned to stalk away.

"Well fine, then!" Sideswipe pouted, standing himself. "If you're gonna be like that, then I'll just find myself some better company," he added, and flounced over to the table occupied by Wheeljack and Bluestreak. Sunstreaker watched him go with a disgruntled look, then shook his head ruefully and followed.

_Someone_ had to keep an optic on the slagger, after all.

* * *

Wheeljack glanced up to see Sideswipe making his way over to their table, followed closely by his very irritated-looking brother. The engineer turned back to Bluestreak and quietly interrupted him. 

"Don't look now, but here come the twins and it looks like they're in the middle of an argument. Sunstreaker must be fully repaired if he and Sides are already fighting with each other."

The Datsun's doorwings twitched in what might have been annoyance. "Well, I wish they wouldn't fight over here," he muttered, ducking his head a little. "I like Sideswipe and all, but Sunstreaker scares the slag out of me," he added in a low voice, trying to keep the rapidly approaching Lamborghinis from hearing him.

Wheeljack shrugged. "Eh, Sunny's not too bad if you know how to handle him-and the best way to handle him is to call Sideswipe or Ratchet. Since Sides is here, I doubt he'll do anything," he murmured, just loud enough for Bluestreak to hear him, and the gunner nodded in understanding.

"Hey, guys!" Sideswipe said cheerfully, taking a seat across from the engineer as Sunstreaker silently took the other chair. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Bluestreak murmured, and if Wheeljack didn't know any better, he would have sworn that the gunner sounded just a touch sullen.

The engineer nodded in agreement with Blue's reply. "So how're you two?"

"Oh, we're just peachy, aren't we, Sunshine?" Sideswipe grinned at his brother, who snarled.

"Call me that one more time and I will rip your arms off and beat you with them," the yellow Lamborghini replied, glowering darkly. Bluestreak chuckled nervously, optics darting from Sunstreaker to Sideswipe and back again. "I wasn't joking," Sunstreaker muttered, just quiet enough that they could pretend they hadn't heard him.

"So where's Ratchet?" Wheeljack asked, trying to diffuse the awkward silence that fell between them.

Sideswipe blinked in surprise at the question. "Oh, he's in the medbay, harassing the poor 'Bots that he hasn't finished repairing yet," he said, sounding amused. He cocked his head to the side, then added, "I think Swoop's in there with him-and Jazz is about to drive both of them crazy, 'cause he's just now getting his radio put back in."

"You mean Jazz has been without music for two whole days? Oh, the horror!" Wheeljack laughed, vocal indicators flashing a cheerful blue.

"Ratchet would like to kill him," Sideswipe agreed, grinning. "And from what I understand, so would Prowl."

Wheeljack glanced back at Bluestreak, and his optics widened when he noticed the other's doorwings held up high and stiff and the irritation on the gunner's face. "Hey, Blue, something the matter?" he asked, concerned.

"No, no, I'm fine-why would you ask?" the Datsun asked with forced cheer.

"Well, the fact that you're taut as a drum, for one," the engineer said gently, and it was true that tension coiled visibly in the gray mech's frame.

Bluestreak's optics darted to Sideswipe almost imperceptibly, but the red Lamborghini saw it even though Wheeljack didn't, and he could certainly read the annoyance in that look. Before he could so much as open his mouth to excuse himself and his brother, however, Bluestreak stood up, mumbling something about a trip through the washracks and going back to his quarters.

"Now, don't let us run you off, Blue," Sideswipe said, realizing that inviting himself into the conversation was not the smartest move if he wanted to play matchmaker with these two, and scrambling to rectify the mistake. "We just wanted to check up on you guys, you know, see how you were doing, but we gotta run 'cause Ratchet gets off duty in a couple minutes. He needs some distraction before he gets any grouchier. We'll see ya later!" the red warrior said with a lecherous grin and a waggling of optic ridges, quickly grabbing his brother's arm and sauntering out of the rec room, accompanied by Sunstreaker's protests and curses. They _thought_ they heard the yellow twin growl, "Real smooth, dumbass," under his breath to his brother as they walked away.

The two mechs left in the rec room stared after the twins in bewilderment, then at each other. Wheeljack gave a confused little shrug at the unpredictability of the Ark's most volatile warriors. Bluestreak slowly sat back down, a puzzled expression on his faceplates and his doorwings twitching almost imperceptibly. "I get the feeling that they're up to something. I can tell because every time they are, they usually involve me and then I always get in trouble with Prowl and end up on extra cleaning or maintenance duty-"

"It's alright Blue, Ratchet and I'll make sure that they don't try anything stupid," Wheeljack said soothingly. Then, after having thought about that for a moment, added, "Well, at least we'll try to keep them from doing anything that gets _you_ in trouble. Primus knows that they haven't really pulled many pranks since they've been staying with Ratchet; I'd say we're probably overdue for one."

"I still can't help but wonder what that was all about," the Datsun muttered uneasily. "That look on Sideswipe's face reminds me of the time when he decided to go around shooting the officers with a suction cup dart pistol… and when he made that bet about Ratchet… y'know, come to think of it, he gets that look on his face just about every time he's getting ready to do something he knows he shouldn't…"

"I think I'll pay Ratchet a visit later and see if I can find out what they're up to," Wheeljack murmured thoughtfully. "Hey, Blue," he added, before the gunner could even open his mouth again. Something about Bluestreak's reaction to the Lamborghini brothers' presence made Wheeljack curious. The talkative gray Datsun was usually glad to see the pair-or, at least, he was usually glad to see Sideswipe-but this time he had acted as though he had resented the intrusion.

"Hmm?" Bluestreak asked, blinking at him in bemusement.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you'd like to talk about? Ya seem a little… jumpy today, for some reason."

The gunner's doors, which had slowly begun to fall into a more relaxed position with the absence of the twins, hiked back up anxiously. "Jumpy?" he echoed, twitching a little. "I'm not jumpy. I think I would have noticed if I were feeling jumpy, don't you?" and he gave a nervous little laugh. His gaze shifted restlessly around the room, looking everywhere but at Wheeljack.

The engineer frowned beneath his mask; well, _that_ was certainly odd.

Bluestreak's behavior was really beginning to puzzle him. The younger mech had actively sought out and apparently desired the inventor's company, but being in Wheeljack's presence seemed to have an unnerving effect on him for some reason. It was a new development, too; he had not been nearly so anxious the other night. It made absolutely no sense to Wheeljack, and he had just resolved to ask for an explanation when Bluestreak spoke again.

"You know, Wheeljack, I think I'm a lot more tired than I thought I was," he said in a quiet voice. "I think I'll head for the washracks and then my bunk." He stood to go. "Thanks for talking with me," he added, still refusing to look at the Lancia.

Wheeljack blinked at him in confusion. "Sure, kid," he murmured, feeling an entirely unexpected disappointment well up in him at the thought of Bluestreak leaving. He had genuinely been enjoying the young gunner's company; there was a hidden depth to Blue's character that he had not guessed at before the events of the past few days.

He did not, however, miss the little wince Bluestreak gave when he called him 'kid'.

Ah.

Wheeljack abruptly realized that it had to be a sore point with the gunner, that so many of the Ark's crew still treated him like a youngling. The young 'Bot _was_ a valuable and skilled soldier in his own right-and Wheeljack decided that calling him things like 'kid' and 'youngster' and 'youngling' was not very kind to Bluestreak. Well, Wheeljack had no control over the actions of the other Autobots, but he certainly could control his own vocalizer, and if referring to his relative youth bothered Bluestreak, Wheeljack would be careful not to mention it again.

Of course, the Lancia highly doubted that that was the _only_ thing eating away at the gray Datsun, and, as he watched Bluestreak walk away, he became that much more determined to find out what was truly upsetting the younger mech.

* * *

"I have an idea." 

Sideswipe's announcement didn't really come as a surprise to Sunstreaker, but it did provoke a wince in the yellow 'Bot.

A statement like that was usually followed by time in the brig.

"What kind of idea?" Sunstreaker asked cautiously. He sincerely hoped it was not one of those 'let's catch Cliffjumper and duct tape him to the ceiling' type ideas. He _much_ preferred spending the night curled up with his bondmates in his own berth to sitting in a cell, cold and alone. He immediately blocked the image that was brought to mind of the red Porsche dangling from the ceiling by strands of silver tape; it wouldn't do to encourage his miscreant brother.

Not that that wouldn't be funny.

"An idea to get Blue and 'Jack together, slagface," Sideswipe was saying haughtily. "Weren't you paying attention back there? Blue has _so_ got the hots for 'Jack."

"And you came to this conclusion _how,_ exactly?"

"C'mon, Sunny, don't tell me you didn't notice that he was following Wheeljack around like a lost turbofox," Sideswipe said in a scornful voice. "Are you dumb as a bag of hammers or something? It was obvious."

Sunstreaker very slowly counted to ten and reminded himself that Ratchet would be very angry with him if he committed fratricide. Come to think of it, so would Prime, but Sunstreaker didn't really give a retro-rat's aft what _Prime_ thought, anyway. He drew a deep, steadying draught of air in through his vents and asked coolly, "What did you have in mind?"

Sideswipe rubbed his hands together excitedly. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before," he said. "All we have to do is enlist Hound."

"Hound?" the yellow Lamborghini echoed, confused.

"Yes. Hound." Sideswipe grinned, and the devious satisfaction plastered on his dark face made Sunstreaker just a touch nervous. On seeing the confusion that blossomed on his brother's face, however, Sideswipe elaborated. "Hound is Bluestreak's roommate. Now, I have it on good authority that Hound has, shall we say, an 'understanding', with Mirage. Well, you know that Hound stayed with Mirage the past few days because 'Raj got hurt, right? And Wheeljack, the kind spark that he is, offered Blue a place to stay so that he wouldn't be alone. See where I'm going with this, yet?"

Sunstreaker thought about it for a minute. "Umm… not really, no," he confessed, arching an optic ridge at his brother.

Sideswipe huffed an exasperated sigh. "I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, aren't I? Look, if we convince Hound to move in with Mirage, then Blue won't have a roommate anymore. You know just as well as I do how much he hates to be alone-and Wheeljack has already proven he'll let him bunk with him. Considering how bad Blue's crushing on 'Jack right now, if we just get him to move in with 'Jack we can let everything else just happen as it will. It will be perfect!" he explained smugly, and Sunstreaker had to shake his head in disbelief at the lengths to which his brother would go.

"You're crazy, you know that?" Sunny asked dryly. "You're on your own with this one," he added, resolving not to give in when he saw Sideswipe's enthusiasm deflate a little. "Sunstreaker doesn't do matchmaking, Sides. This is your baby, not mine. I want no part of it."

"Want no part of what?" They had reached the medbay just as Ratchet was coming out of it, and the medic now stood watching them with a suspicious look on his face.

"Uh, nothing?" Sideswipe asked hopefully, knowing full well that their bondmate wouldn't buy it.

"Bullshit," Ratchet said flatly-apparently he'd been spending time recently with Sparkplug, if he was using human epithets. "You're up to something." The twins were not surprised to see the aforementioned human wander out of the medbay behind Ratchet just in time to hear the medic's last statement.

"The twins? Up to something? Never!" Sparkplug said cheerily, and Sunstreaker glared down at him as though looking at a bug he'd particularly like to squish.

"Oh, it's not even worth being sarcastic about," Ratchet told Sparkplug sourly. "They're always up to something, it's just a question of what."

"Hey, Sparkplug! Whatcha doin'?" Sideswipe asked, gladly leaping on any form of distraction. The human grinned up at him, and the red mech had a feeling that the elder Witwicky male had seen right through him.

"Oh, nothin' much," Sparkplug replied, still smiling. "I just hadn't been around in a while, so I thought I'd come visit."

"Oh, goody," Sunstreaker muttered.

"Be nice," Ratchet warned, watching his yellow bondmate with narrowed optics.

"I am being nice," Sunstreaker replied coolly. "I haven't stepped on him yet. If you need me, I'll be in there," he added, nodding toward the door to their quarters, across the hall from the medbay doors, before suiting actions to words and disappearing inside.

"He's just a regular ray of sunshine, ain't he?" Sparkplug mused, staring at the closed door thoughtfully.

"That's our Sunflower," Sideswipe chirped, smiling ruefully. "He doesn't play real well with others," he confided in the little human.

"So I noticed," Sparkplug replied dryly.

"Enough with the chit-chat," Ratchet interrupted impatiently. "Out with it, Sideswipe."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sideswipe said, all innocence. Ratchet eyed him dubiously, and he fidgeted a little under the medic's scrutiny.

"Uh-huh," Sparkplug murmured. "Ya know what, I think I'm gonna see if I can't find Wheeljack-haven't seen him in a while," he added, eyes narrowing at the big red mech.

"Uh, yeah, I just saw him in the rec room, actually," Sideswipe said cautiously, not taking his optics off of Ratchet. Sparkplug nodded his thanks and left; it was obvious that he had no desire to be in the middle of an argument between the ambulance and the Lamborghini. Sideswipe turned to enter the quarters he shared with Ratchet and Sunstreaker.

"Come on, now, Sides," Ratchet said just as the red mech had his fingers poised over the keypad to type in the entry code, beginning to sound irritated. "It better not be anything bad-you know I'll find out sooner or later, anyway. And, if the way you're acting is anything to go by, I'm probably not going to like this scheme of yours, am I?"

Sideswipe winced. "Can we at least go inside?" he whined, giving his bondmate a pleading look. Ratchet relented a little, and followed him in once he had opened the door. Sunstreaker glanced at them, uninterested, and went back to playing the video game he had started up.

"Ok, we're inside," the medic commented, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "So what are you planning this time, Sideswipe? And it _better_ not be anything that's gonna land someone in the medbay, either."

"It's nothing _bad,_" Sideswipe protested. "I was just gonna…" the rest trailed off into unintelligible muttering.

"In a language I can _understand,_ Sides. I don't speak 'mumble'," Ratchet said dryly.

The red Lamborghini huffed air through his vents and flopped down onto their berth, sprawling out on his back-the very picture of a mech at ease, except the bond practically vibrated with a nervousness that spoke volumes of how well Sideswipe thought Ratchet would take his idea.

"Well…" Sideswipe began hesitantly.

"Yes?" Ratchet prompted, sitting down beside his lover and laying a hand on the red hood.

"Have you… noticed anything _odd_ about Bluestreak's behavior lately?" the red twin asked, and Ratchet blinked in surprise.

"If you were just concerned about Bluestreak, why the secrecy?" the medic asked, confused, and Sideswipe waved a hand in negation.

"No, no, I'm not really worried about Blue," he said, reaching down to twine his fingers with the red hand resting on his chest. Sunstreaker snorted derisively, but they both ignored him.

"Stop hedging around and give me a straight answer, Sideswipe," Ratchet said, beginning to become really irritated with the red twin's evasiveness.

"Well, have you noticed that Blue seems to be following Wheeljack around an awful lot ever since 'Jack let him stay with him a couple nights after the battle, and I thought well that's cute--"

"Stop right there." Ratchet put a hand to his forehead as though he was feeling the beginnings of a headache. "You're really trying to fix up _Wheeljack_ with _Bluestreak_? Have you got a few wires loose in there? No, don't answer that," he said tiredly, holding up a hand to forestall anything his mischievous lover might have said. He stared hard into Sideswipe's optics, then sighed. "You're serious about this, aren't you?" The warrior nodded solemnly. Ratchet stood up and started pacing in agitation.

"Look, I got us together, didn't I?" Sideswipe asked softly.

The medic smiled wryly. "That was mostly an accident, you know," he replied, letting his affection for the twins bleed through their bond.

Sideswipe grinned unrepentantly. "Nah, I'm just that _good_," he said smugly, and Ratchet couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, is that so?" he asked in a soft voice, sitting back down beside his red lover.

"Yup," Sides said arrogantly, sitting up to sling an arm around the medic and giving him a small squeeze.

Ratchet sighed and leaned a little into the embrace. He jumped when Sunstreaker eased down onto the berth behind him, wrapping arms around the medic and resting his chin on his lover's shoulder.

"Sideswipe needs to learn how to share," the yellow twin explained when Ratchet arched an optic ridge at him. "He was getting all the attention." Ratchet 'hmphed' in amusement and patted the golden hands laced together across his windshield. Sunstreaker placed a quick kiss on the side of his head in return, and the medic smiled before turning his attention back to Sideswipe.

"Sides," he began quietly, "I don't want to see Wheeljack hurt. Primus knows he hasn't had the best of experiences when it comes to relationships. And Bluestreak is… well, Bluestreak. Kid's got more problems than most of the mechs on the Ark combined, and we're a damned nutty bunch."

"Yeah, but you should see how they act together," Sideswipe protested. "Bluestreak's been following 'Jack around like a lost puppy and 'Jack hasn't lost patience with him yet. They're not that odd a couple; hell, look at _us_."

"Wheeljack doesn't lose patience with _anyone_ unless they're really annoying the slag out of him," Ratchet pointed out. "I don't know if 'Jack can handle dealing with Blue's problems. Slag, I don't think a trained psychologist could handle Blue's problems. Primus knows Smokescreen's tried, but the kid won't talk to him."

Sideswipe perked up at that, seeing an opportunity. "Well, maybe he'll talk to 'Jack!" he said hopefully. He gave Ratchet a pleading look. "We won't know unless we try." He could see the medic's expression softening as he thought the idea over.

"Do you really think it could work out? You both know that I hate seeing 'Jack so unhappy…"

"Trust us," Sideswipe urged gently. "Even better, trust _them_. You know Wheeljack's got enough sense to at least know when to bow out, if it's not working. Problem is he's oblivious to the fact that Blue's got a crush on him, even though the only way the kid could be more obvious is if he walked up and kissed him."

"Look, you don't know 'Jack like I do—I was there last time he fell in love, and it was a disaster." He sighed, sounding almost defeated. "But I _do_ trust you, crazy as that is. Just… don't hurt him, alright? I'd hate to have to turn you into a toaster after all the work I've put into your sorry chassis." His lips quirked in a little smile, and both twins chuckled.

"You know," Sunstreaker said thoughtfully. "Your shift just ended, and we don't have to be back out on patrol for a couple hours…"

"Is that so?" Ratchet murmured with a little laugh at the non sequitur, but he leaned into the caress that Sunstreaker trailed down his side and beneath a seam in his armor. Sideswipe's hands joined his brother's as he kissed his bondmate. "Did you have anything in mind?" the medic whispered breathlessly.

"Oh, we can think of a few things," Sideswipe purred, grinning wickedly, and then there were no more words between them as they lost themselves in each other.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Not much to say this time; just wanted to give my love to my lovely beta-reader, VAWitch, and to all of the wonderful folks who left reviews. Constructive criticism is what I thrive on, and the more reviews I get, the faster I tend to write. XD

Also, this chapter also co-written by the evil twin. Make sure to give her some love. Especially considering that the part with Hound and Blue would not have been nearly as good if yours truly had written it. ;D

* * *

"C'mon, Hound, you had to have noticed it," Sideswipe insisted, giving the green scout the most earnest look he could muster. Hound eyed him dubiously; Sideswipe at his most earnest was usually also Sideswipe at his most devious, and Hound wasn't sure he trusted the red Lamborghini.

"Yeah," he said cautiously, taking a sip of the energon Sideswipe had brought to him when he had sat down at Hound's table in the rec room. "I noticed it. He talks about him constantly nowadays. It's always 'Wheeljack this' and 'Wheeljack that'. He's definitely got it bad."

Sideswipe nodded. "Only problem is, everyone _except_ Wheeljack has noticed Blue's… infatuation. I'm trying to find a way to, ah, 'open his optics,' so to speak."

Hound regarded him curiously. "You mean you can't just convince Blue to go talk to him about it? I thought you were a pro at getting him to do just about anything you wanted him to," the scout replied, a little disapprovingly at the thought of all the trouble the twins had landed Bluestreak in previously.

The red Countach shook his head. "No, Wheeljack would probably be put off by a direct approach like that," he said.

"How do you know? Have you tried?" The Jeep sounded amused.

"I happen to be bonded to his best friend, and Ratchet's still kinda new to the whole bonding thing, so I usually find things out whether he means for me to or not," Sideswipe replied dryly.

"Ah. So what, exactly, am _I_ supposed to do about all of this? I mean, yeah, Blue's got a major crush, maybe even a little bit more than a crush, but I just don't think he's brave enough to do anything about it, and I don't see how I'm gonna be able to help," the scout said honestly, shaking his head. "Plus, you gotta take into account the fact that Wheeljack's at least as old as I am, maybe older, and Blue's pretty young—there's a big age difference there. Not to even _mention_ the fact that 'Jack's an Academy graduate—an engineer—and Bluestreak's just a simple gunner. There's a _huge_ gap between their backgrounds, and that's just as likely to cause problems as their ages."

"I had thought of that," Sideswipe admitted softly, staring down at the tabletop and drawing invisible designs on it with his fingertips. After a moment, he looked back up at Hound with a fierce look in his optics. "But, look at me and Ratchet and Sunny. Me and Sunstreaker, we're just soldiers, and Ratchet's the CMO. I'll be the first to admit that he's a lot smarter than either of us, and a lot better educated, too. And, hell, an officer probably shouldn't be carrying on a relationship with a couple of grunts like us, either. I'd say Prowl had something of a fit at the thought of all of the rules we were breaking when he first found out we were living together, but Ratchet's good for us, and I like to think that we're good for him, too. So, when you think of it like that, the thought of Wheeljack and Bluestreak together really isn't all that farfetched."

Hound smiled ruefully. "I have to admit, you make a pretty good case for it," he said. "And, truthfully, anything that would make little Blue happy is okay in my book, but that still doesn't tell me how I'm supposed to help you with this. I'm just his roommate. It's not like I have any control over what he does."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Sideswipe told him, a hint of smug satisfaction in his tone. "What I figure is that this crush of Blue's started when he spent those two nights in Wheeljack's room. Now, the only reason he stayed there was because _you_ were with Mirage—how is Mirage, by the way?"

Hound blinked. "He's fine, thanks for asking," he murmured, bemused, and gestured for Sideswipe to continue.

Sideswipe nodded. "Good. Right, well, you know how Blue is about being alone after a fight, so Wheeljack said he could stay in his quarters until you got back, and then 'Jack did _something_ that caused Blue to develop this crush. Soooo, _I_ think that if you moved in with Mirage, Wheeljack just might offer Blue a place to stay again—and you know that it would be impossible for 'Jack not to notice how Bluestreak feels if he lives with the kid." He stared at Hound expectantly, optics hopeful.

"Let me get this straight," the scout began. "You want me to move in with 'Raj." Sideswipe nodded. "And you're _hoping_ that Wheeljack will repeat his offer of a place for Blue to stay, so that Blue will move in with _him_." The red mech nodded again, this time cautiously. "And _then_ you're hoping that maybe—_maybe_—Wheeljack might notice Bluestreak's crush and act on it. That's an awful lot of hoping and maybes, Sides." Hound leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "Not to mention the fact that I would have to get 'Raj to cooperate, too."

"C'mon, Hound," Sideswipe cajoled. "It would so be worth it if they end up happy together, wouldn't it?"

The scout sighed. "Yeah, I guess it would. Just… let me see what I can do. And don't make me regret this, alright?"

"No worries," Sideswipe replied, grinning.

* * *

Bluestreak stared forlornly at Hound as the Jeep packed his meager belongings in preparation for the move. "I'm gonna miss you," he mumbled miserably.

Hound paused for a moment to send a sympathetic look to the young gunner. "I know, Blue," he said softly. "But 'Raj really needs me, you know? You understand, don't you?" Bluestreak nodded unhappily. It was all the scout could do not to give in and stay with the youngling, but if Sideswipe's plan was going to work, he had to go through with his part. _If this doesn't work, I'm going to beat that foolish Lamborghini senseless_, he thought with a little resentment.

"Look, Blue, I'll still be around, anytime you need to talk, all right?" The gunner nodded again, this time looking Hound in the optics with determination.

"I'll be okay," he said, with more conviction than he felt. The green mech clapped the Datsun on the shoulder with a little smile.

"Yeah, you'll be okay," he said gently, and then he left.

* * *

"Hey, Blue, you alright?" Wheeljack asked quietly, laying a gentle hand on the gunner's shoulder. When Sideswipe had mentioned to him that he had seen Bluestreak sitting by himself in a corner of the rec room looking miserable, the engineer had felt compelled to seek him out and find out what was wrong.

Bluestreak gave him a cheery but false smile, as bright and empty of meaning as a light bulb. "I'm fine, I just wanted to sit here for a while, is all," he said. Wheeljack didn't buy it for one second, and he told Bluestreak so.

"Look, Bluestreak, I can tell that you're _not_ fine," the Lancia said firmly, sitting down shoulder-to-shoulder with the younger mech. "The way I see it, you've got two choices: one, you save us both some trouble and go ahead and tell me what's bothering you right now, or two, I can follow you around and annoy the slag out of you until you _do_ tell me. I hate seein' ya so upset, Blue."

Bluestreak winced at that. "Really, Wheeljack, I'm okay," he insisted. "I was just a little bored, and, well, maybe I _was_ feeling just a bit down since Hound moved out—"

"Wait a minute, Hound moved out?" Wheeljack interrupted, startled. "What for?"

The gunner shrugged, uncomfortable. "I dunno… He moved his stuff to Mirage's room, said 'Raj was unhappy 'cause they didn't get to spend a lot of time together, and I guess I do kinda get in the way of them since Hound spends so much time with me, but I didn't really think he was all that bothered by it. I mean, it's not like Hound and I are anything but friends, right, so why would Mirage be jealous of me?" He sighed and stared mournfully into the cube of energon he'd been nursing. "And I still can't shake the feeling that I'm being selfish for wanting Hound to stay with me—he probably would have moved in with Mirage a long time ago if I hadn't been around." His voice lowered, as though he didn't really want to speak the next words that came out of his vocalizer, but he just couldn't stop them. "I just _hate_ being alone," he whispered, "and Hound is the only one who can stand to stay with me." He shuttered his optics, unable to look at Wheeljack after that confession.

"Oh, Blue," Wheeljack said softly, voice and optics full of compassion. He looked surreptitiously around the rec room to make sure they were alone—Bluestreak probably wouldn't thank him for comforting him in full view of everyone, in light of the rumors it would spawn—and he put his arms around the young gunner, pulling him close in a gentle hug. "You don't have to be alone," he said in a quiet voice, "and Hound is _not_ the only one who can stand you."

Bluestreak shuddered in his embrace before finally turning his face into Wheeljack's shoulder and wrapping his own arms around the inventor. "You must think I'm some kind of whiney little brat," he sniffled weakly. "I don't know why I told you all that, I know you don't really want to hear about my silly little problems—"

"Bluestreak," Wheeljack interrupted him reprovingly. "They are _not_ 'silly little problems', they're a big deal to you, and if I didn't want to hear about them I wouldn't have asked." He gave the younger mech a brief, comforting squeeze, then let him go and pushed him to arms' length so that he could look him in the optics. "Tell you what," he said firmly. "You seem to have forgotten what I told you before, so I'm gonna refresh your memory. Any time, _any time_, you need anything—someone to talk to, a place to stay,_anything_—you come to me, and I'll make sure you get it, alright? _No matter what._"

"O-okay," Bluestreak replied in a small voice, optics brightening just a bit. "I'll… I'll try to remember that."

Wheeljack nodded. "Here," he said, pulling a note pad out of subspace and scribbling something on it before ripping off the top sheet and handing it to Bluestreak. "This is the entry code to my quarters. I meant what I said, Blue—if you need anything at all, just come get me—I'm usually either in my lab or the medbay, and if I'm not in either of those places, just use that code. I'll be back to my quarters eventually, and I won't turn you away." He patted the gunner's shoulder gently and stood to leave, confident that he had at least managed to cheer him up a little. "Now, I've got to get back to the medbay since my shift's not really over, but promise me that you'll come get me if something's bothering you," he said, one hand still gripping Blue's shoulder.

"I promise," Bluestreak replied shyly, smiling up at the Lancia.

"Good," Wheeljack said and, with one last pat, he took his leave. He didn't see Bluestreak clutch the bit of paper like a priceless treasure before subspacing it, or the longing look that the gunner directed at his retreating back.

* * *

"Wheeljack?" the whispered voice, so close to his head, caused him to wake from recharge with a wordless shout of surprise, thoroughly startling the one who had spoken. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry, I'll just go," the other babbled fretfully, backing up in nervousness.

"Bluestreak?" Wheeljack asked blearily, peering across the room as he recognized the young 'Bot's voice. It finally registered, as a few more of his systems booted up, that the gunner was scrambling to leave. "No, wait, Blue, it's okay," he said hastily, forcing his last few systems online and swinging his legs over the edge of the berth to sit up. "You just startled me, is all. You don't have to go." The Lancia scrubbed a hand over his face, and then actually _looked_ at Bluestreak for the first time. He frowned and was glad that the mask hid it; the young Datsun looked like he had just seen a ghost. "What did you need, Blue?" he asked encouragingly.

For a moment Bluestreak just regarded him uncertainly, and then he sidled a little closer to Wheeljack and asked diffidently, "Would you… could I… stay here? Just for tonight, I mean, it's not like I want to move in or anything but it's just that I'm having trouble going offline and—"

"Whoa, whoa, easy Blue," the engineer said, smiling warmly beneath his faceplate. "You don't need to be so anxious. I don't mind if you stay here, tonight."

"Really?" Bluestreak asked hopefully, and suddenly Wheeljack found himself with his arms full of gray Datsun as the gunner flung himself into the inventor's embrace and hugged him gratefully. "Thank you, Wheeljack!" he said happily, and was it his imagination or did one of Blue's hands give a quick caress to one of Wheeljack's stubby 'wings' as the younger mech got up to go to the spare berth? Shaking his head, he decided that his mind was playing sensory tricks on him, and told himself to forget about it.

"It's nothing, Blue, you know you're welcome here," the engineer said kindly. Both of them lay down on their respective berths; Wheeljack was pleased to hear the telltale signs that Bluestreak had cycled into recharge almost immediately. Content, he initiated his own recharge cycle and fell into dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Fraggit, Ratch, what is your problem?" Wheeljack demanded sourly near the end of a shift he was sharing with the CMO in the medbay several days later. Bluestreak, contrary to what he had said that first night, had spent every recharge cycle since in Wheeljack's quarters, and the feeling of being needed that it gave the engineer left him warm and content inside.

"You," Ratchet shot back. "You're a witless ninny—a complete and utter idiot who wouldn't notice something important if it bit him on the aft! Twice!" He crossed his arms over his windshield and glared at his best friend.

Wheeljack was bewildered. "What in the Pit are you nattering on about this time?" he asked, genuinely confused by the irritated looks the medic had been giving him all day.

"Primus! If you haven't noticed by now—" Ratchet cut himself off, sounding frustrated. "Look, 'Jack, how long has Bluestreak been staying with you?" he asked with an unnatural calm.

"Nearly a week…?" Wheeljack replied, eyeing his friend uneasily. "What's that got to do with—?"

"And you haven't noticed _anything odd_ about his behavior?"

"Well, no, but—"

Ratchet threw his hands up in an inarticulate cry of frustration. "Dammit, 'Jack, does it have to be spelled out for you in small words?" the medic demanded angrily. "That youngling's got a crush on you so bad, even _I_ can see it. And are _you_ doing anything about it?" He answered himself, altering his voice to a mocking falsetto, "'Why, no, Ratchet, I haven't done a damned thing!'"

"Alright, that's enough," Wheeljack growled, completely flustered by both the revelation and the insults.

Ratchet sighed. "Look, Wheeljack, he's done everything except beat you over the head with it, and everyone can tell that he's starting to get depressed because he's getting no indication that you're interested in anything but friendship," he said quietly. "And yet, _somehow_—and I have no idea what it is you're doing—you're still managing to keep him clinging to one little shred of hope that you might see him as something more. Do yourselves both a favor, and either give in to him, or discourage him, but don't keep stringing him on like this. It's not fair, not to either one of you. Not to mention the fact that Prowl and Jazz—and _Hound_, Primus forbid I forget _him_—have all been looking at you like you're breaking the spark of their only creation. Prowl—_Prowl!_—has even asked me if I knew what your intentions were, or if you were too glitched to notice Bluestreak's feelings. And I don't even want to get _into_ what I've been putting up with from those yappy-aft twins."

For a moment all Wheeljack could do was stare, slack-jawed expression hidden by his mask, and the only thing coming out of his vocalizer was unintelligent stuttering. "Wha—buh—but what am I supposed to _do_ about something like this?" he managed finally, giving his friend a pleading look.

The medic regarded him through narrowed optics, apparently thinking the problem over. He nodded to himself as though coming to a decision, and announced, "Kiss him."

"I—what?!" the engineer sputtered.

"You heard me," Ratchet replied firmly. "Kiss him. I know you've got a mouth under there," and he poked the plate covering the lower half of Wheeljack's face, "so use it." He paused for a moment, then added softly, "At least, if you do, you'll know where _you_ stand in all this."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wheeljack asked, sounding almost miserable.

Ratchet snorted. "It _means_ that kissing him is a good way to figure out what _your_ feelings are."

The Lancia eyed him doubtfully. "I dunno about that…"

The medic huffed in annoyance. "Look, would you even entertain the notion of kissing, say… me?" he asked, putting his fists on his hips.

Wheeljack gave him a disgusted look. "Slag, no," he snapped. "Are you crazy?"

Ratchet's expression became smug. "But you're seriously thinking about kissing _him_," he said, voice thick with satisfaction. "Tell me, what do you feel when you think about _that?_" He watched the inventor expectantly. "And I want a serious answer, Wheeljack, not just a knee-jerk reaction," he added grimly, pinning the Lancia with a gimlet stare.

Wheeljack sighed and, against his better judgment, honestly thought of what it might feel like to remove the mask and kiss the young gunner. He nearly gasped when he realized that he would be nervous as a youngling, that the very thought sent a thrill through his circuits that he couldn't quite suppress. "Primus," he whispered. "I think I…" he trailed off, unable to say aloud the thoughts running through his processor.

"I think that Bluestreak's not the only one with a crush," Ratchet finished for him in a quiet voice.

"But he's just a youngling," the inventor murmured softly, helplessly. "I didn't mean to—"

"Fall in love?" Ratchet asked gently, and Wheeljack's gaze snapped back to him sharply.

"No," he said decisively. "No, I'm not in love—not yet. But infatuated… yes, definitely infatuated." He shook his head. "How in the Pit did this happen?" he mused to himself, and was startled when Ratchet answered him.

"Oh, for the love of— Look, 'Jack, you've spent so much time with him for the past few days, and it's hard not to like the kid, really it is… and to be honest, the only one who didn't think that the whole thing was sickeningly obvious was you. I swear, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought the pair of you were welded together at times." Ratchet looked distinctly amused, much to Wheeljack's chagrin.

"That bad, huh?" he asked ruefully, and couldn't help but chuckle when Ratchet nodded with a grin. His amusement faded as he contemplated what the medic had told him, and what he had discovered about himself. "You know," he said quietly, "I think maybe I'm gonna get out of here. I… have a lot to think about." Ratchet nodded once again, and watched him thoughtfully as he left.

At Wheeljack's exit, Sideswipe came out of his hiding place in Ratchet's office to give his bondmate a loving caress. "I think that went well," he said smugly.

The medic gave his lover a wry look. "I hope so, for all our sakes," he murmured, leaning into Sideswipe's embrace.

"It will," the Lamborghini chuckled. "Oh, it will."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Apologies for the length of time it has taken to get this chappy out; sis has been sick, and university has consumed my life. Updates will probably stay at this rate until school is out in May, unfortunately.

We once again wish to thank VAWitch for beta-reading this for us—she is fantastic and without her this story (as well as the other two) would not be nearly what they are. XD

And of course love to all my readers, and cookies to everyone who is kind enough to leave a review. You people keep me going. XD

* * *

Wheeljack was thankful that Bluestreak was not there when he reached his quarters; he was not sure he wouldn't make an idiot of himself in front of the gunner if he ran into him right now. He sat down heavily on the edge of his berth and ran a weary hand across his face.

"Primus," he muttered uneasily. "Now what?" He stood, unconsciously beginning to pace. He tried to think back to when he had gotten so attached to the young Datsun, and found that he couldn't pinpoint an exact timeframe. It had just crept up on him with the subtle inexorability of the ocean wearing rock down to sand—and now that he was actively aware of it, it was just as inescapable.

"Think, think, think," he murmured, then paused; it sounded familiar. Where had he picked that phrase up from? Oh, yes—some children's program the Dinobots had been watching, something about a fat yellow bear. He shook his head, dismissing it as unimportant, and returned to contemplating his little dilemma.

It had been horribly embarrassing to have Ratchet point out what he now realized really _had_ been glaringly obvious. The youngling had chattered his audios off for the past couple of weeks, ever since he had repaired the rent in the grey mech's side and then allowed him to recharge in his room. The engineer cast an almost involuntary glance at what he had begun thinking of as Bluestreak's berth. A rifle the gunner had been repairing lay on it, speaking of its owner's intent to return, and various other little odds and ends belonging to Bluestreak were starting to fill the shelving above it.

The funny thing was, he really didn't mind—far from it! He had come to enjoy the younger mech's company, for although he _did_ talk a great deal about almost everything, he was not an unintelligent conversationalist.

One just had to learn to either interrupt—which Bluestreak did not take offense to—or just wait till he paused to go off on another tack.

And something that Wheeljack appreciated about him—something of which he doubted most mechs were aware—was that Blue was just as capable of listening as he was of talking.

It had surprised him at first.

Bluestreak had asked him about a project that he had just started, something still in the planning stages that Wheeljack was very excited about. In hindsight, he realized that he had quickly gotten over the youngling's head, but at the time, Bluestreak had listened patiently, showing every sign of interest and even asking a few questions here and there. Most other mechs, he knew from experience, would have given him an odd look and found some way to politely (or sometimes not so politely) tell him to shut up.

Maybe that was when he had started to get so attached to him.

In any case, it had happened, and here he was trying to figure out what in the world he would say to Bluestreak the next time he saw him.

"Ah, who am I kidding?" he asked himself, defeated. "The minute I take this mask off he's gonna run screaming anyway." Impulsively, he decided to remove the mask, just for a moment, and see if it was really as bad as he remembered, or if emotions had clouded his judgment on the matter. He dug a mirror out of a storage box he'd shoved under his berth—he'd had no real need of it in millennia, after all—and, propping it up on his desk, he reached up to release the hidden catches on either side of the curved plate that hid the lower half of his face.

The reflection that stared back at him made him flinch involuntarily. Scars in the pliable metal twisted his features. His mouth was a thin slash through the marks crawling across his cheeks, and what was left of his nose was badly disfigured. He drew a shaky, whistling draught of air in through his intakes—and nearly leaped out of his own armor when a second gasp echoed behind him. He whirled around to see Bluestreak standing just inside the doorway, just pulling his gaze away from the mirror with a horrified look on his face, and shuttered his optics because he suddenly couldn't bear to see the gunner's inevitable reaction.

His systems almost crashed when he felt Bluestreak's fingertips ghost across the old scars. He tried to flinch away, but the younger mech anticipated the response, sliding an arm across the engineer's shoulders, effectively holding him in place. "What happened? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to—"

Bluestreak's gentle, soothing tone reassured the Lancia, and he relaxed enough to lean a little into Blue's one-armed embrace. The gunner's actions perplexed the older mech; he had expected horror and revulsion, not this calm understanding. For a moment he allowed Blue to hold him, feeling a guilty pleasure in the innocent comfort the gunner was offering; then he pulled away in embarrassment, muttering, "It's not important—just a stupid accident that happened in my Academy days."

To Wheeljack's surprise, Bluestreak snorted disbelievingly. "My aft it's not important," he retorted. "Why'd you act like I'd shot you when I came in, then?" When Wheeljack just shook his head, the Datsun pulled him a little closer and said softly, "It's obviously important to you, isn't it? Talk to me," he insisted gently. "I know what it's like to live with scars." The engineer gave him a puzzled look, and he smiled mirthlessly. "My scars just aren't on the outside," the gunner explained, and Wheeljack's optics widened.

"What happened?" the Lancia asked quietly. Bluestreak just shrugged and smiled. "It happened a long time ago," he replied evasively, and Wheeljack was sensible enough to know that the younger mech was not going to tell him about it. He leaned back into the grey shoulder and sighed.

"There's not much to tell, really," he said in response to Blue's earlier question. "I was fiddling with something that by all rights should have been harmless, but you know my track record." The gunner smiled at Wheeljack's feeble attempt at levity. "Anyway, it landed me in the medbay. It's how I met Ratchet, you know. I wasn't able to afford to have my face reconstructed, so Ratchet made this mask for me. Then the war broke out, and it just didn't seem that important, so I left it as it was."

"There's more to it than that, I'm guessing, but you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Blue said comfortingly.

Suddenly, Wheeljack couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the whole situation.

"What's so funny?" Bluestreak asked, confused.

The engineer shook his head, smiling. "It's just that, a few days ago, _I_ was the one comforting _you._ It's a little… ironic, I guess."

Bluestreak arched an optic ridge. "Yeah, I suppose it _is_ a bit unusual," he murmured, lips quirking slightly upward. "But, hey, if it works…" he shrugged, a grin growing wider on his face. His arms, seemingly of their own volition, tightened a bit around the Lancia's shoulders.

The gunner was acutely conscious of the fact that he had the object of his admiration in his arms—and that this situation could not hope to last. He resolved to enjoy this unique opportunity as long as possible; who knew if he would ever get this chance again?

And then, Bluestreak's spark nearly leaped out of its casing when he felt Wheeljack's arms hesitantly wind their way around him. "Blue?" the engineer asked in an unsteady voice, and somehow the Datsun managed to make some kind of acknowledgment to his question. Wheeljack pulled back just enough to look Bluestreak in the optics. "I, uh… well, Ratchet gave me some advice a little while ago, and—I think maybe I'm gonna take it."

"What… what kind of advice did he give you?" Blue winced a little at how husky his voice sounded, but he couldn't seem to help it right now.

Then the engineer did something that turned Bluestreak's world upside down: He whispered, softly, "This," and captured the gunner's lips in a gentle kiss.

Time stopped; everything narrowed down to the white mech in his arms and the surprisingly warm lips against his.

For a moment the kiss remained chaste. Then Wheeljack deepened it and Bluestreak thought he might die from the sensation of it. He made a soft noise of approval and clutched the engineer closer to him. In return, Wheeljack's hands wrapped around the joints of his doors.

Bluestreak's knees nearly gave out under him. He sagged heavily against the Lancia and broke the kiss to moan at the feel of those careful fingers rubbing over the hinges.

"Easy," Wheeljack breathed right next to his audio, chuckling quietly. "Don't want you to fall."

"If you don't want me to fall, then you should either stop doing that or take this to a berth," he replied fiercely, and ran his hands across the engineer's own 'wings' to prove his point.

Wheeljack stilled for a moment, though a shudder went through him as a result of the gunner's caress, and pulled back enough to meet Bluestreak's optics. "Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked cautiously, expression guarded. "I'd… rather not deal with regrets, later."

Bluestreak regarded him seriously for a few moments as he thought about it—the engineer deserved no less than an honest answer. "I wouldn't have any regrets," he said finally, reaching up to gently stroke the scarred cheek. "Not with you. Though… I haven't exactly had much practice at this."

Wheeljack snorted. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't done this in—oh, probably longer than you've been online," he said wryly, all the while drawing the gunner toward his berth.

Bluestreak stopped and stared at him in genuine astonishment. "Why not?" he asked. "Everyone likes you well enough—"

"Yeah, when they want me to upgrade their weapons," the engineer interrupted, sounding amused. "Besides," he added quietly, "there's always been prettier mechs to choose from. These kinda tend to put people off." He gestured to the marks marring his features.

"They don't bother me," Bluestreak said mildly as they hesitantly sat down on the berth. On an impulse, he lay down and pulled Wheeljack on top of himself, surprising the older mech. He squirmed a little until he was comfortable, and for a short time they just lay there, basking in one another's presence.

"Lost all your shyness, huh?" Wheeljack finally chuckled, and Bluestreak gasped when the engineer suddenly dipped a hand under his front bumper.

"Nah," the gunner breathed. "Just… misplaced it… for… a while… oooh…" He grasped the Lancia's head by each earfin and pulled him down for a thorough kiss, and the hand that was now tracing his headlights faltered briefly before renewing the assault. "I'll probably remember it in the morning, though, don't worry," he added, optics sparkling with mingled amusement and desire when he broke from the kiss.

"Hmm, maybe I'll have to make it so that you forget where you misplaced it at," Wheeljack replied, smiling back at him. Worry crept back into his expression; Bluestreak nearly groaned in exasperation at the sight. "Look, Blue, are you sure this is—"

Bluestreak found that a kiss was a very effective means of shutting the Lancia up. "Read my lips," he said sternly. "_I. Am. Sure._ Whether this lasts for one night or for forever, I want this. And right now I don't really want to think about what's gonna happen later, okay? So please don't remind me."

For a long moment Wheeljack just regarded him with uncertainty in his optics, and then, softly whispered, "Alright," and he resumed caressing between the seams of the gunner's armor. Bluestreak retaliated by wriggling his fingers into the space between the tires and the wheel wells just below the engineer's shoulders.

Wheeljack shivered and gasped, engine revving—and, suddenly, his hands were desperately roaming everywhere they could touch. Bluestreak replied in kind, hazily wondering if the sound of their now-screaming engines could be heard out in the hall before deciding he didn't really care. His searching fingers found and traced a data port—and the engineer stilled above him, intakes whining with the effort of keeping enough cool air flowing through his overheating systems.

Carefully—oh, so carefully!—the Lancia found one of the gunner's own ports… and locked his interface cable into place with a soft _snick_.

This time it was Bluestreak's turn to gasp as the connection flared to life between them. The Datsun was grateful that this sort of link rarely strayed beyond surface thoughts, emotions, sensations; he had forgotten how _intense_ it was, and he did not want to deal with Wheeljack's reaction if the old nightmares got away from him again.

Truth be told, he would rather forget the nightmares existed, and to that end, he let himself be lost in Wheeljack, let the engineer push him closer and closer to the edge until he toppled over with a desperate cry.

Just as he fell into the bright abyss of overload, he sent a thick pulse of energy across the link into his lover, and, with a strangled shout, the Lancia followed him over the precipice—and then his systems reset and all was dark.

* * *

"I offlined you," Wheeljack said smugly when Bluestreak finally unshuttered his optics.

"Did you?" the Datsun asked, still groggy. He thought about it for a minute. "Hmm. I guess you did. How long was I out?"

"Coupla hours, I think," the inventor replied, smiling—and Blue suddenly realized that he still had not replaced his mask. He grinned back, secretly pleased to see the engineer still without it. Wheeljack's smile quickly grew sheepish, however, and, in an amused tone, he admitted, "I, uh, just woke up myself, actually."

Bluestreak snickered. "I offlined you," he said, deliberately echoing the Lancia's greeting, and Wheeljack laughed.

"It would appear that way," he agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to the Datsun's grinning lips.

"I could definitely get used to this," Bluestreak said lazily after they parted, optics dimming in contentment as he curled up into Wheeljack's arms. "You make a pretty comfy pillow, you know. You're nice and warm. I think I could stay here forever and be happy," the gunner murmured, burrowing his face into the inventor's shoulder. "This is _way_ better than recharging all by my lonesome—I think I'm spoiled now," he added, grinning up at Wheeljack mischievously. "You might be stuck with me."

"Oh, horror," Wheeljack replied, chuckling. "I guess I'll have to find some way to manage," he said, the twinkle in his optics belying the serious tone. "Although, it'll be such a hardship having such an eager lover sharing my berth."

Bluestreak snorted. "Somehow I doubt you'll find it all that difficult," he said wryly.

Silence fell between them, and when it became apparent that Wheeljack had no intention of breaking it, Bluestreak felt the first stirrings of the familiar unease, the need to fill the quiet so that he didn't have to think too much. He glanced at Wheeljack's face; the older mech looked so well-contented that the Datsun clamped his mouth shut to keep from ruining it for him.

His processor, however, practically hummed as the doubts that he had managed to forget in the engineer's arms finally caught back up to him. Just as he opened his mouth to say something—anything—to quiet the thoughts in his mind, Wheeljack noticed the tension building in him and softly said his name with a questioning lilt in his voice.

"Is something wrong?" the inventor asked, propping himself up on one elbow and placing a concerned hand on the gunner's front bumper.

Bluestreak, suddenly nervous again, avoided his optics. "There's nothing… wrong, really…" he said hesitantly. "I mean, I'm not regretting this or anything. I just… I never really expected for this to actually happen and, well… I think maybe it'll hurt a little worse than I thought that it would if this ended up being a one-time thing. I wouldn't try to make you stay with me, though, if you don't want me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't 'cause I know I talk a lot and sometimes that gets on people's nerves, but I had thought that you didn't mind and that's why I—"

Wheeljack interrupted him with a searingly fierce kiss. "Bluestreak," he said firmly when he finally pulled away, "hush." And he kissed him again.

"But you said I could kick you if you ever told me to hush," the gunner said breathlessly when they finally parted.

"Actually," Wheeljack replied smugly, "I said you could kick me if I told you to shut up."

"Semantics!" Bluestreak retorted, laughing. "Excuses! I don't wanna hear 'em." He hesitated, sobering. "Does… does this mean that this isn't a one-time thing?" he asked diffidently, watching Wheeljack with such hope in his optics that the engineer's spark twisted painfully.

"If that's what you want, Blue," he replied, gently brushing his thumb over the gunner's cheek. "Though why you would want a worn-out old mech like me is beyond my understanding," he added ruefully, lips quirking in a wry smile.

A smile like the sun dawning for the first time bloomed across Bluestreak's face, but before he could so much as open his mouth to answer, the comm. unit in Wheeljack's computer terminal chirped insistently. The two mechs frowned at each other in annoyance, then the engineer heaved a huffy sigh and left the berth to answer it.

Ratchet's irritated face appeared on the screen. "Wheeljack," he greeted his friend shortly. "Why haven't you been answering me?"

The Lancia gave him a blank look, scrambling for a suitable response. "Uhh… well…"

The medic shook his head. "Look, you can tell me later. What I really would like to know is: why in the hell did you have an _entire crate_ of duct tape in your lab?"

Wheeljack blinked. "Duct tape?" he asked, bewildered. "I—"

"And," Ratchet interrupted impatiently, "why the hell did you leave the door to said lab _unlocked?_" He narrowed his optics at the inventor; his entire attitude screamed, "I'm waiting!"

"Is there a point to this?" Wheeljack asked, still confused.

"Oh, yes, there is a point—because when you let Sideswipe have the run of your lab, Bad Things Happen," the CMO growled, and he switched the image displayed on Wheeljack's screen to that of what was undoubtedly a minibot—it had to be Gears, judging by the red and blue paint scheme showing through in spots—completely covered in duct tape.

And dangling from the ceiling.

Wheeljack whistled. "Gotta hand it to him. He's pretty creative," he said, impressed despite himself.

"Creative is _not_ the word I would use," Ratchet snarled as his face filled the screen once again. Suddenly, the medic did a double take, anger fading so abruptly that Wheeljack was instantly wary.

"'Jack," he said cautiously, "when did you take off your mask?"

The Lancia's optics widened in horror when he realized that, yes, his face was still bare. "I… forgot that it was off," he whispered, frantically looking around for it.

He stopped dead when a grey hand held it up to him. He took it and looked up to see Bluestreak watching him with an uncomfortable expression on his face. "It, uh, fell to the floor when you, uh…" He shook his head, and Wheeljack wondered how it was possible for the younger mech to look even more mortified than he already had. "Yeah, I'll just go over here and die of embarrassment now," the gunner muttered, beginning to turn away, but Wheeljack caught his arm before he could leave. Ratchet stared at the Datsun, optics wide.

Finally, the medic turned back to Wheeljack with an unreadable look. "You, ah, have grey paint streaks all over you," he said, deadpan. "You might want to get those taken care of before someone sees you and starts up the rumor mill." He paused, the slightest hint of a grin lifting the corners of his mouth. "Oh, and 'Jack—it's about damn time," he added sweetly. Then he cut the connection, leaving a floored Wheeljack and Bluestreak to gape at the blank screen.

Wheeljack made an inarticulate noise of frustration. "Slaggit! Was I really that fragging oblivious, that that sorry slagger has to rub my nose in it every chance he gets?" he growled, throwing his hands up in the air. Bluestreak stared at him in astonishment.

"You… were pretty oblivious," he offered tentatively, giving the inventor a wary look. "I thought that I could be oblivious sometimes but you really—"

"I think I get it, Blue," Wheeljack said dryly, gently pulling the gunner in for a hug to take the sting out of his words. "I'm sorry for being such a blockhead," he murmured, laying his cheek alongside the Datsun's. "Sometimes I get so busy thinking one thing that I miss what's right under my nose. I guess that's why I end up blowing myself up so often," he added, chuckling, and frowned in confusion when he felt Bluestreak tense. "What's the matter?"

The gunner hid his face in Wheeljack's shoulder. "I just… well, I guess it scares me—the thought of you getting hurt or k-killed when something like that happens. Primus, 'Jack, you nearly _died_ that last time… Ratchet said that you almost didn't make it, and everyone was worried sick—" He cut himself off, shuddering.

"Shh," the Lancia said soothingly, gently rubbing circles on Bluestreak's back between the doorwings. "Blue, it's alright. I'm pretty tough, ya know." The younger mech nodded uncertainly against the engineer's shoulder, and Wheeljack smiled. "Will it make you feel better if I promise to be more careful from now on? And besides, you can give me a good kick in the aft if I get careless or distracted, okay? That is, unless you're the one doing the distracting," he added with a full-blown grin.

Blue pulled away and smiled back up at him disarmingly. "Keep talking like that and I'll never make it to my shift on time!"

Wheeljack checked his internal chronometer. "Too late for that," he chuckled ruefully.

"Oh, no!" the gunner exclaimed, darting for the door. The Lancia caught his arm before he made it all the way out and kissed him fiercely.

"See you tonight?" the engineer asked softly. Bluestreak nodded and gave him one last kiss before he was out in the hallway at a run.

When he was gone, Wheeljack leaned back against the closed door with a giddy laugh. "Well that went well," he said happily to himself. He left the door, only to face the berth where he and the gunner had spent the night, which brought back a rush of pleasant memories. He found himself eagerly awaiting Bluestreak's return with an excitement he had not felt since his Academy days.

He was so keyed up that he was unable to focus on any of the small projects he kept about his room. After a few minutes of pacing he decided that he had to get out, and a visit to Ratchet was in order, anyway. The longer he kept the medic waiting for details, the more likely he was to throw things. And after all, it was only fair, since Ratchet had confided in the engineer himself when it came to his relationship with the twins. Besides, the Lancia was bursting with the need to share his newfound happiness with his oldest and closest friend.

Mind made up, Wheeljack immediately sauntered out into the direction of the medbay.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the length of time it has taken to post this; RL is cutting into my writing time something terrible.

I would, once again, like to thank my sis for helping me write this, VAWitch for taking the time to wade through it and catch all my mistakes, and all of my reviewers for being so supportive--and occasionally give me a kick in the pants to help me keep writing even I'm being a little lazy. ;p

ALSO: please check out whiner's and TaintedTamer's deviantArt pages; they have drawn some very lovely fanart to go along with my stories. I'll put the links in my profile; you two have no idea how happy you have made me. XD

* * *

To say that Ratchet was in a bad mood when Wheeljack, mask firmly back in place, strolled into the medbay would have been the understatement of the year.

The medic was busy peeling ribbons of silvery duct tape off of a whining Gears, a curse falling from his lips for every complaint out of the minibot.

"You know, if you'd keep your bondmates on a leash this wouldn't happen," Gears sulked. Ratchet just snarled wordlessly in reply and yanked the strip of tape in his grasp with more force than strictly necessary, and Gears yelped as a line of red paint came loose with it.

"Easy there, Ratch," Wheeljack cautioned cheerfully, too pleased with the world in general to let his mood be ruined by Ratchet's displeasure. The medic looked up at him with a scowl.

"Well, look who showed up just in time to lend a hand," he growled sourly. "Help me get this fragger unwrapped already," he ordered, giving a little tug on the tape he'd been alternately cutting and pulling loose for emphasis. He ignored the minibot's protest.

"Did he use the entire crate?" Wheeljack asked, gingerly beginning to peel bits of the tape off of Gears' chassis.

"Yes." The medic's response was a frustrated hiss. "And, as a result of these shenanigans, he gets to pull _this_ sorry-aft excuse for a minibot's shifts on top of his own for the next few duty cycles," he added, sounding supremely annoyed. Gears opened his mouth to retort, took a good look at Ratchet's face, and thought better of it.

Wheeljack snorted. "So who gave him _that_ punishment?" he asked, amused in spite of himself.

Ratchet gave him a disgusted look. "_I_ did, the sorry fragger, and Prowl agreed with me," he snapped. On seeing his friend's startled look, he added defensively, "I do happen to be an officer, you know, and he thinks I'll let him get away with slag like this just because—" He cut himself off, unwilling to say it with Gears pretending that he _wasn't_ listening intently. "In any case, this sort of thing is unnecessary and uncalled for," the medic muttered, shaking his head. He ripped away another section of tape, prompting another howl from his patient.

After that, they worked in silence until they had Gears free of tape, and it was with no small amount of relief that they sent the minibot out of the medbay and back to his quarters to repair his paintwork on his own.

"So," Ratchet drawled, turning to Wheeljack expectantly once Gears was gone.

"So?" the engineer asked innocently, optics brightening in amusement.

"So… you still have grey streaks all over you," the medic pointed out, grinning.

Wheeljack glanced down, alarmed. When he looked back up to his friend, his expression was sheepish. "I guess I forgot," he said, sounding embarrassed.

"That good, huh?" Ratchet teased, giving the engineer's arm a good-natured swat. "Did you run into anyone in the hall?" he asked.

"Just…" Suddenly the inventor's optics widened in horror. "…Jazz," he finished in a whisper. "Oh, Primus, the whole Ark will know by now!"

"Well, Prowl will, at least," Ratchet laughed. "Don't worry, he probably won't do anything _too_ drastic to you," he added, still snickering. Wheeljack gave him an evil look.

"Hardy-har-har," the engineer muttered. "Go ahead and laugh it up. I'm the one that's gonna be stalked for the next little while until Bluestreak's gaggle of protectors are satisfied."

The medic grinned. "He has plenty of overprotective 'Bots that are willing to stand up for him, that's for sure," he replied, still chuckling. "I don't envy you, especially in dealing with Jazz and Prowl. Pit, you'd think he was their sparkling, with the way they act."

Wheeljack groaned. "Don't remind me," he whimpered. "And Jazz is just as bad for pranks as the twins—except he's better at not getting caught. Primus!"

Ratchet made a noise that Wheeljack chose to interpret as sympathy. "So, overzealous creator-figures aside, how's it going so far?" the medic asked, genuine concern for his friend's happiness peeking through the amusement.

Wheeljack's earfins flashed in a sort of embarrassed pride. "Well—well, good, I suppose," he replied modestly. "I mean, he's coming back, tonight," he added confidingly, "and the scars don't seem to bother him at all." His hand drifted up to touch his mask almost involuntarily.

Ratchet snorted. "You didn't honestly think Blue would be as shallow as—"

"_Please_ don't say his name," Wheeljack interrupted pleadingly. "Especially not now—I've been trying not to think about it."

This time the medic's expression was definitely one of sympathy. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I wasn't even thinking about what I was saying."

Wheeljack shook his head. "It's alright," he murmured. His optics brightened suddenly, and Ratchet had the sneaking suspicion that he was grinning like a Cheshire cat beneath that mask. "Poor Blue, though—he was late for his shift," the engineer said, chuckling. "I hope Prowl doesn't put him through the ringer for it."

Ratchet made a soft sound of amusement. "I think maybe he'll have a harder time trying to explain away the white and green paint on his chassis," he commented. "Speaking of which, we'd best get your paint touched up—no need to add fuel to the fire that's no doubt already been spreading since you left your quarters," he added, pushing his friend up onto one of his repair tables.

"You know, I _can_ fix my own paint," Wheeljack told him, laughing.

Ratchet arched an optic ridge at him. "Yeah, but how many times have you done this for me when I was still too dazed to do it myself?" he asked, optics glinting with mirth.

Wheeljack snickered. "Too many," he replied, vocal indicators flashing a cheerful blue as he complied with the medic's directions. "Those twins must really be something else."

"You have no idea," Ratchet said dryly, though an undercurrent of laughter lightened his tone. "They seem to have this ability to make something that should hurt like the Pit feel unbelievably good."

"Uhh, I think that's too much information, Ratch," Wheeljack pointed out, giving a mock shudder. "And just for that, next time you can bang out your own dents."

Ratchet snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right—you love it," he retorted. "Now hold still." He carefully began buffing out the streaks marring the inventor's chassis.

The engineer sniffed disdainfully. "I do _not_ want to know what sort of _deviant activities_ you and those two hellions get up to in your spare time, thank you _very_ much," he said loftily, looking down his nose as his friend with an air of mock superiority.

"Our _activities_ are not _deviant_," Ratchet protested in an annoyed tone, giving Wheeljack a gentle shove.

"Hmph," the inventor grunted. "Then what _do_ you call it, when it ends up with you wandering in here with your optics way too bright and out of focus, and your chassis covered in scrapes and dents?"

"Sunstreaker," the medic deadpanned, barely twitching lips the only indication of his amusement at his own wit.

Wheeljack couldn't help it. When he burst out laughing, it broke Ratchet's control, and their guffaws were loud enough to bring the aforementioned yellow mech out of the quarters he shared with Ratchet and into the medbay.

He looked from medic to engineer and back again with a suspicious expression as they struggled to calm down. "What's the matter with you two?" he asked bluntly, optics narrowing. They looked at him, looked at each other, and collapsed into giggles again. Sunstreaker's lip curled in disgust at their antics, and he glared at his bondmate.

"Frag, but he's _pissed_," Ratchet murmured just loud enough for Wheeljack to hear, suddenly serious. He walked over to the yellow Lamborghini and tentatively put his arms around him; he breathed a little sigh of relief when Sunstreaker relaxed against him infinitesimally. "We weren't laughing at you, love," the medic said quietly, and the yellow twin nodded as most of the tension flowed out of him.

"Alright," Sunstreaker muttered, voice still a bit edgy, but he let Ratchet give him a quick kiss before they stepped apart. For a moment, he seemed content to just watch as his lover went back to retouching Wheeljack's paint, and then he asked, "So, what _were_ you laughing about?" He abruptly seemed to notice the grey scrapes decorating the engineer's frame and did a double take. "So _that's_ what Sideswipe has been on about all morning," he commented, leaning a little closer to get a better look. "He's on patrol with Bluestreak, and he keeps nattering on about how Blue's got white and green paint all over him." He gave Wheeljack an amused look, as though something entertaining had just occurred to him. "You realize that it was Sideswipe that broke him in, don't you?" he asked, arching an optic ridge and looking as though he were enjoying himself far too much for what he had just told them. Their optics widened as his meaning sank in.

"You fragger," Ratchet said softly. "You knew damn well that neither of us knew that."

Sunstreaker shrugged and met his bondmate's gaze steadily. "You _did_ know that Sideswipe wasn't all that discriminating about his lovers," he pointed out with infuriating calm. Wheeljack made a soft, strangled noise of anger, and Sunstreaker turned to give him a flat look. "Before you jump up on your high horse, you should think about who I'm insulting," he said coolly. "It was not a secret that my brother would interface with anyone he could manage to seduce. It's not that big of a leap of logic to think that he might have seduced Bluestreak. He _does_ like him, after all." The yellow warrior's expression softened marginally. "And, after all, better Sideswipe, who really did like him, than someone who was only out to take advantage. _We_ saw that there was something going on with him; one time after a battle Sides came up on him in the rec room, shivering and unable to recharge. Sides tried to comfort him and one thing led to another…"

"Sounds an awful lot like taking advantage to me," Wheeljack growled, bristling. Sunstreaker just shook his head.

"Sides just does the best he knows how," he replied simply. "He also knew that what Blue really needed was a steady relationship, and at the time that was something neither one of us was willing to give. So, it lasted a few weeks, then once Blue seemed stable again, Sides broke it off as easy as he could. Youngling did alright, too, until that last battle."

Wheeljack sagged back onto the table at that, all the fight gone out of him. "Yeah, I saw how he was," he murmured. "There's something about a rough battle that triggers it, I think. Don't have any clue what that might be, though…"

"Not many people actually _know_ anything about Bluestreak's past," Ratchet said thoughtfully.

"I'd say I can take a guess as to who the ones who _do_ might be," Wheeljack replied, thumbing the catches of his mask absently.

"Who?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"Why, Hound, of course, and probably Prowl. And what Prowl knows—"

"—Jazz knows," Ratchet finished for the Lancia. "But you're forgetting one more mech who knows what happened to Bluestreak."

Wheeljack arched an optic ridge. "Oh?" he asked, curious.

Ratchet gave his friend a small, weary smile. "Me," he said softly. "As Chief Medical Officer of the Ark, I have complete access to everyone's records. And before you even ask," he added, forestalling his lover's next question, "I'm not about to break patient confidentiality for _anyone._" He crossed his arms over his windshield in a gesture of finality. Sunstreaker 'hmphed' in annoyance, but didn't try to argue.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Wheeljack murmured, ignoring the temperamental Lamborghini. "If he wants to tell me, he will." He gave Sunstreaker a wry look. "To be honest, you probably shouldn't have told me about him and Sideswipe," he said softly. "I'm sure he had a good reason for keeping that information to himself."

Sunstreaker shrugged. "It was never really a secret," he said. "And it's not like Sides will ever go back to him, not when we've got plenty enough to keep us occupied for the rest of our lives," he added, casually wrapping an arm around his bondmate's waist. Ratchet snorted but didn't push him away.

"Flatterer," the medic muttered, eyeing the Lamborghini sidelong. He shook his head. "I still can't believe that Sideswipe would—oh, wait, scratch that; yes I can believe it. I just would rather not think of any of your brother's or your flings."

"You _do_ realize that he brought most of them home to me, too, right?" Sunstreaker asked, amusement creeping back into his voice. He laughed outright and pulled the medic into a hug when Ratchet growled his name angrily. "Don't worry, Ratch," he chuckled, "no one can even hold a candle to you."

Wheeljack rolled his optics in exasperation. "Please, spare me," he grumbled half-heartedly. "You two are sickening."

Sunstreaker gave him an appraising look—and then his optics lit up with mischief.

"Don't you dare, Sunny," Ratchet warned, shoving at one yellow shoulder.

"Dare what?" Sunstreaker was all innocence, though the corners of his lips twitched upwards in a small smirk. "Am I not allowed to be… _affectionate_?" he asked, pretending that his feelings had been injured. The emphasis he put on the last word, however, made it sound vaguely obscene, and Ratchet couldn't help but shiver a little at his yellow lover's tone.

"Not when I'm around," Wheeljack interjected, shuddering in mock disgust. "You two go somewhere else and do that, and I'll fix my own paint, thank you very much."

The yellow Lamborghini snickered at the inventor's discomfiture, and Ratchet arched an optic ridge in amusement. "What's gotten into you today?" the medic asked, leaning into his bondmate just a little more firmly. Sunstreaker said nothing that Wheeljack could hear, only touched his forehead to Ratchet's—and the medic suddenly laughed, low and sultry and obviously not meant for anyone's audios but Sunstreaker's. "I'll have to rectify that, then won't I?" he murmured, optics darkening at whatever the yellow mech had said.

Wheeljack shifted uneasily, acutely conscious of the fact that they had probably forgotten everything but each other. He slipped off of the repair table, intending to sneak out and leave them to themselves, but Ratchet looked up sharply the minute that his feet touched the ground. "You. Sit," he commanded, and the engineer sheepishly got back up on the table.

"Look, Ratch—" he began, but the CMO interrupted him.

"No, I said I was going to finish with your paint, and that is what I'm going to do," Ratchet said calmly, eyeing him through narrowed optics. He glanced at the now-embarrassed Sunstreaker. "Even if I _did_ get a little distracted," he murmured, expression softening just a bit when the Lamborghini's gaze darted up to him and then quickly back down to the floor.

Suddenly, before Ratchet could protest, Sunstreaker walked over and snatched up his airbrushes and paint and then stood in front of Wheeljack expectantly. "Actually," he announced, "I think I'll do it. It's been awhile since I painted someone else. I need the practice." His expression grew sly. "Besides, Bluestreak saved our afts out there in that last fight—the least I can do is pretty you up for him."

"What?" Wheeljack asked, startled.

Ratchet made a sound of disbelief. "I believe you are getting a once in a lifetime chance to have our resident artist paint you," he said wryly. "Sunny's a damn good hand with an airbrush; I suggest you take it."

Someday, Wheeljack mused, one of those twins was going to do something to make his optics widen to the point of freezing in place that way. They were coming close at the moment, though the seals were still holding for the time being. "Alright," he said uncertainly, and lay back to let the yellow warrior do what he would.

Sunstreaker made a soft, satisfied noise, and eyed him as though looking for a place to begin. Eventually he decided to start at the inventor's feet and work his way up, and he set down his confiscated airbrushes to pick up a sanding tool so that he could strip off the old paintwork.

It did not take long for Wheeljack to realize that Sunstreaker meant to completely repaint him, rather than just touch up the damaged sections. "What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up and earning a glare from the yellow mech.

"If I just repaint the scratches, you'll look patchy," Sunstreaker replied irritably, pushing him back down. "You don't want Bluestreak to come back and see you looking patchy, do you? And besides, I don't half-ass any paintjob." He gave Ratchet a pointed look; the medic 'hmphed' in annoyance.

"My major concern is generally not for the paint, love," he said, arching an optic ridge. "In fact, I would say that it's one of my lowest priorities." Sunstreaker only huffed a sigh and went back to sanding away the Lancia's paint to reveal the burnished metal underneath, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'barbarian' under his breath.

Wheeljack just barely stifled a chuckle at the exchange; for a split second he had seen Sunstreaker melt at the term of endearment, and it would have been adorable if one did not take into consideration the yellow mech's reputation. He forced himself to relax as the Lamborghini once again applied the sander to his frame. The pleasant, almost soothing vibration from the tool helped ease the engineer's tension, and it was not long before it sent him into a light doze, though he was still awake enough to be marginally aware of what was going on around him.

He couldn't help but jump, however, when Sunstreaker rudely tapped his arm and indicated for him to turn over so that he could finish stripping the paint from his other side. It seemed like it took a much shorter time for the yellow twin to sand off the last of his paint, and Sunstreaker abruptly decided that he needed Wheeljack to stand so that he could apply first a coat of primer, then the paint, and finally a glossy clear-coat. His movements were deft and sure, and when he finished, he stood back to examine his handiwork critically.

The Lamborghini circled Wheeljack several times, looking him up and down for any possible imperfections before stopping squarely in front of him and nodding in satisfaction. He leaned in very close to the engineer and said coldly, "Don't let _anything_ touch you for the next hour, or I will come and beat you myself for ruining my work," and then he stalked out of the medbay without another word.

Ratchet stared after his bondmate in bemusement for a long moment, and then, grinning, he turned back to Wheeljack with a low wolf-whistle. He walked his own circuit around the engineer, nodding approvingly. "Damn, 'Jack," he laughed when he finally came back around to face his friend, "if Blue doesn't jump you the minute he sees you tonight, then he's fragging blind."

Wheeljack just blinked, and looked down thoughtfully at his new, softly shining coat of paint, and only barely stopped himself from touching it when he remembered Sunstreaker's warning. "You think so?" he asked, feeling a little overwhelmed.

Ratchet nodded enthusiastically. "Here," he said, and then, motioning for the inventor to follow, he led him into his quarters.

Wheeljack spared a moment to wonder where Sunstreaker had gone when he realized that the yellow twin was not in the room, and then his optics grew round in amazement when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror set up in the corner. "Is that really me?" he breathed, almost pressing his nose to the glass in incredulity. He drew back a little so that he could see the full effect again; his armor shone with a soft luster that it had not had in ages, paint smooth and glossy and the lines where the colors met perfectly crisp with no hint of smudging.

"He really outdid himself this time," Ratchet remarked in a quiet voice, eyeing his friend appreciatively. "You look good, 'Jack."

Wheeljack ducked his head in embarrassment. "Thanks," he murmured, vocal indicators glowing a pleased blue. His optics grew abruptly sad. "Pity it's not so easy to do something about these," he added softly, absently touching the mask that hid his scars.

The medic grunted. "You mean it's a pity you won't let me fix them," he said irritably. "It would take a while, but it _can_ be done, you know—and we're reasonably well-supplied here, so you can't use that excuse anymore."

Wheeljack shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be right to use those supplies for something that's just cosmetic," he replied decisively. "Scars are not exactly life-threatening, and, really, they don't bother me that much anymore."

"Liar," Ratchet said quietly, but he didn't press the issue any further. He had known Wheeljack long enough to know when the engineer wouldn't be budged, and to leave well enough alone. He decided that it was time for a change of subject. "You never did tell me exactly what happened last night," he commented, optics twinkling with mischief.

The inventor's earfins were just as indicative of embarrassment as a human blush, and Ratchet laughed when they glowed brightly. "Well," Wheeljack began, sounding flustered, "I just… ah, I was thinking about what you had told me, and I came to the conclusion that I really _was_ being… unobservant." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I took my mask off—just for a minute—I never expected him to walk in on me. He-he wasn't disgusted though, he was just accepting and I—took your advice. Things kind of… snowballed from there, I guess." He shrugged self-consciously.

"And?" Ratchet demanded, lips quirking in a smile.

"And what?" Wheeljack asked irritably. "That's all there was to it."

"Oh, come on, 'Jack," the medic scoffed, "was it good, was it bad? Though," he leered, "if Sideswipe was the one who taught him, he can't be that bad." Wheeljack swatted him, looking scandalized.

"I _so_ did not need that mental image, thank you very much," the Lancia muttered, glaring at his friend, who laughed. "I swear, the more time you spend with those Lamborghinis, the more shameless you become."

Ratchet shrugged. "What can I say? It's either get used to it, or let them drive me crazy," he chuckled.

Wheeljack snorted. "So it doesn't bother you at all that your bondmate used to be Bluestreak's lover?"

"Actually, from what I could gather, it's more like both of them were Bluestreak's lovers, and, no—the bond doesn't really leave any room for doubts. The past is in the past. Does it bother you?"

The engineer looked away, uncomfortable. "A little," he admitted. He cocked his head in confusion. "I thought that Sunstreaker made Blue nervous?" he said questioningly as what the medic had told him sank in.

Ratchet just shrugged again, and his optics took on a faraway look that Wheeljack knew meant he was communicating with one or both of his lovers. "Sideswipe says you'll be surprised what you can get some mechs to agree to with the right encouragement," he said wryly. He paused, then added, grinning, "He also says to tell you thanks—he's had to endure having Bluestreak chatter his audios off about _you_ all day. He's seriously thinking about turning the gain all the way down on them so he doesn't have to hear your name again."

Wheeljack's expression grew wondering. "He's… been talking about me? All day?" he asked, uncertainly.

The medic laughed gently and nodded. "Probably with that same lovestruck expression on his face that you're wearing right now," he said.

"I'm not lovestruck," the Lancia protested, suddenly defensive.

"You are, too," Ratchet argued. "Your head was so far up in the clouds when you walked into the medbay you just about needed a warning light for aircraft."

Wheeljack scowled and muttered, "I'm not going to dignify that with a reply."

The ambulance sighed. "It won't kill you to admit it if you are, 'Jack," he said quietly. "He's such a sweet-tempered mech. I honestly don't think he would treat you the way that Sil—the way you were treated before." Ratchet winced at what he had almost said.

Wheeljack eyed the medic narrowly, but chose not to say anything about his friend's near-slip. Finally, he looked away. "Don't you think I know that?" he asked quietly, studying his reflection with intent optics. "There's not a mean circuit in his body—comparing him to Silverspire would be about like comparing him to Sunstreaker; there are no similarities. I just… it's hard to get over the old hurt, even though it's been such a long time." He snorted. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm not as paranoid as Red Alert."

"Listen, 'Jack, do you honestly think I wouldn't tell you if I thought you were making a mistake?"

"Huh," Wheeljack huffed, and then admitted ruefully, "I'd never hear the end of it. I remember that you bitched from the moment you met 'Spire."

"With good reason!" Ratchet insisted. "And I was right, too, wasn't I?" The medic's tone was smug enough that Wheeljack had a moment's temptation to hit him for it, but he resisted the urge.

He sighed. "Yeah, you were right," he said grudgingly. "You slagging jerk," he added, optics twinkling with sudden amusement.

"Oh, you love me and you know it," Ratchet laughed. The ambulance suddenly cocked his head to the side, listening to something that Wheeljack couldn't hear. He returned his attention to the engineer. "By the way—Sideswipe thought you might like to know that he and Blue are entering the Ark as we speak, just in case you wanted to get back to your quarters before he does," he said, grinning.

The Lancia felt his spark flutter in nervous anticipation at the thought of seeing the gunner again. He met Ratchet's gaze, optics bright. "Thanks, Ratch," he said softly.

Ratchet looked surprised. "What for?" he asked, startled.

"For being here—for talking with me about this."

The medic smiled. "Hey, you're the closest thing I have to a brother," he replied. "Brothers are supposed to be there for each other. Now, get, or he'll get there before you do," he added, and pushed his friend out of the door.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Finally got this one cleaned up and out here; Sis has been sick and I took a side trip to write 'Lapsus Memoriae'... .; By the way, said story will probably not be updated again until this one is at least mostly, if not completely, finished, due to spoiler issues. I'd say I was sorry, except I'm not. ;p

* * *

He felt more than a little stupid, trying to sneak down the hall to his room and hoping he didn't run into Bluestreak or anyone else on his way there. Thankfully, the corridors were empty, and it was just a short distance to his quarters anyway, so he was spared an encounter with one of his comrades. 

He still couldn't help but blow a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, though he chided himself for behaving like an inexperienced youngling. Really, so what if someone had seen him in the hall? It was none of their business that he'd gotten a repaint, anyway. He caught himself pacing nervously and forced himself to sit down at his desk—where _was_ that Datsun, anyway? Ratchet had told him that they were walking into the Ark nearly half an hour ago.

He leaped to his feet when the door cycled open and nearly kicked himself for an overeager puppy when Bluestreak looked a little taken aback. He needn't have feared, though; a broad grin nearly split the gunner's face as he came fully into the room and shut the door behind himself.

"I wasn't dreaming," Bluestreak said wonderingly, walking forward to stand just in front of the engineer. "You really are here, waiting for me." Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the red and green markings that slashed across Wheeljack's chestplate, gaze tracking the movement of his own fingers, before looking up into the engineer's optics as though searching for permission for something. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he made a soft noise of joy and embraced his lover. Wheeljack gently put his own arms around the gunner as Bluestreak began his usual rambling account of what he'd done that day. He pressed his face into Bluestreak's neck and let the sound of the younger mech's voice wash over him.

"I stopped by the washracks before I came here, 'cause I got kinda muddy while I was out on patrol. Sideswipe teased me the whole time because I forgot about all the white streaks you left on me—he was in a really good mood today for some reason—but Prowl was mad that I was so late even though he said he'd let me by with it this time since I've never really been late before without a good reason. I don't think I would have cared if he'd made me clean the washracks for the next month, though. I haven't been able to think about anything but coming back to you all day—" He pulled back and eyed him curiously. "Did you get a repaint?" he asked abruptly, arching an optic ridge.

Wheeljack couldn't help it; he laughed softly. "Yeah—Ratchet was going to help me fix the scratches, but Sunstreaker had other ideas, and took over. So I ended up getting a complete repaint. Do you like it?" He was suddenly apprehensive, even though he knew that Sunstreaker's work was flawless.

Bluestreak smiled shyly as he backed up enough to see all of him at once. "You're very handsome," he said finally, meeting the engineer's gaze with such honest admiration in his optics that Wheeljack felt his breath hitch in his intakes. He swept the gunner up in another embrace, though he eased off a little in embarrassment when Blue laughingly protested that he was holding him too tight.

"Take off your mask, please, Wheeljack?" the younger mech asked softly, voice a bit muffled in the engineer's shoulder. He raised his head up, optics gleaming a warm, hopeful blue.

"Alright," the Lancia replied, unable to deny his lover anything he wanted. He reluctantly pulled free of the gunner's arms and reached up to release the catches on the faceplate; he gently set it on his desk once it came loose. Before he could so much as look up, however, Bluestreak gripped both sides of his head and yanked him into an eager kiss. He made a small sound of surprise, and then melted into the kiss, firmly wrapping his arms around the grey mech and tilting his head a little to deepen it.

When they finally parted, Bluestreak had a dazed but happy expression on his face. "I've been waiting all day to do that," he breathed, burying his face in the engineer's shoulder again.

Wheeljack chuckled softly. "So have I," he whispered confidingly, reaching up to stroke the gunner's cheek. He started to feather kisses along Blue's jaw and down to his neck, but got hung up in the rocket launchers mounted on the gunner's shoulders. "Hmph," the Lancia muttered, "let's take these off, shall we?" He ran careful fingers around the base of one, searching for the mechanism that held it in place.

Bluestreak snickered at his growing frustration at being unable to remove the weapon and finally took pity on him, reaching up to disengage first the left, then the right launcher, and setting both of them neatly against the wall. "Better?" he asked, grinning as he returned to the inventor's embrace. "Y'know, since you're an engineer and all, shouldn't you have been able to figure out how to remove my rocket launchers?"

"Oh, mute it, you smarmy little glitch, I have better things to study than how your damned rocket launchers come apart," Wheeljack replied teasingly, sounding a little embarrassed. Bluestreak just laughed before trailing kisses up the Lancia's neck and along his jaw to capture his lips again.

"In other words, you couldn't figure it out," the Datsun murmured against the engineer's mouth, chuckling softly.

"I would have figured it out. Eventually," Wheeljack protested, pulling back to look into optics dancing with amusement.

"Uh-huh," Bluestreak said dubiously, optics still crinkling with laughter at being able to tease his partner.

"You're having too much fun with this, aren't you? I think you need to be taught how to respect your elders," the engineer purred, pushing his younger lover back toward his berth.

"Is that so?" Bluestreak asked breathily, not resisting as he was laid down on the 'charge pad while Wheeljack knelt over him.

"It is," was the only reply, and the gunner gasped when the Lancia wriggled a hand under his back to stroke the joints of his doors. The simple touch set his circuits on fire, and he arched up into the engineer, giving his hand more room to move.

"Ohh, Primus, 'Jack," Bluestreak whimpered desperately, reaching up to caress the Lancia's own wings and smiling when the older mech shuddered.

Wheeljack's other hand suddenly became busy tracing the seams of the Datsun's armor, occasionally dipping a finger or two underneath to run along sensitive wiring and circuitry, and his engine revved at the way Bluestreak writhed beneath him in response. He was startled into a moan when, without warning, the gunner found one of his data ports, and plugged himself into it.

The pleasure building in his systems was suddenly doubled as their systems synchronized and everything that his lover was feeling bled through the link. He gasped at the sheer _need_ that the gunner was radiating—and discovered that, beneath it all, Bluestreak already loved him, even though he was terrified that Wheeljack didn't truly love him back.

"Blue," the engineer rasped, but the Datsun just pressed their lips together in another searing kiss, and Wheeljack forgot everything but the feel of the body beneath him and the pleasure rising in the link between them and the sound of engines wound very nearly too high.

For a long moment they hovered on the knife's edge of overload, and then, each crying the other's name, they toppled over.

It took Wheeljack a few hazy minutes to realize that neither of them had actually offlined this time, and for a while he was content to listen to the creaks and pings of cooling metal and the whir of vents as their bodies came down from the release.

The silence stretched between them until Bluestreak shifted uneasily underneath him, and the engineer felt a little thread of apprehension through the data link that still connected their systems. The gunner made as though to disengage himself and get up, but Wheeljack quite firmly arranged his weight so that the younger mech couldn't do much more than disconnect his interface cable.

"Just where do you think you're going?" the Lancia asked pleasantly, rearing back so that he could see Bluestreak's face.

"Uhh… I thought… to my own berth?" the Datsun hazarded, optics wide.

"_I_ thought that you wanted to stay here, with me," Wheeljack replied softly, letting some of his disappointment creep into his voice.

Bluestreak winced. "I… I did," he murmured, optics downcast. The inventor tipped his face back up with a finger under the grey chin and pressed a chaste kiss to the Datsun's lips.

"Then why were you going to leave?" He gently nuzzled the younger mech's cheeks, laying fluttering kisses along his nose and over his face.

"I didn't want to make you… uncomfortable," Blue replied, squirming restlessly until he figured out that he really couldn't move unless the engineer let him.

"You won't make me uncomfortable, Blue, not after what we just did," he assured the gunner, who bowed his head demurely. "Why would you think that?" he asked—and though he already knew the answer, he still wanted to hear Bluestreak admit it.

"Because…because you know about…" the grey mech said miserably.

"Know about _what_, Blue?" Wheeljack was beginning to get frustrated at the way that Bluestreak was evading the question; he decided that if the gunner didn't give him a straight answer soon, he would have to do something drastic.

Biting his lower lip nervously, Blue whispered, so quietly that Wheeljack had to strain to hear it, "You know that I… that I… love you." He shuttered his optics, so obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop that the engineer wondered just what had caused the youngling to have such a lack of confidence in himself. Before he could say anything, however, the floodgates burst open and the gunner was suddenly babbling fearfully, as though being in love was something he had to apologize for.

"I'm sorry, 'Jack, I know that this is way too soon to be saying something like that but I can't seem to help it—you've been so kind to me and so understanding, and I told myself that I shouldn't let myself get so caught up, but you just—"

"Blue, shh, it's alright," the engineer murmured, sitting up and gathering the younger mech into his arms to lean against his chestplate. "You can't help the way you feel, or who you fall in love with—I learned that the hard way a long time ago. I'm hoping that maybe, this time around—"

"This time around?" Bluestreak echoed, raising his head from where it lay on Wheeljack's chest to look at the inventor with wide optics. There was such hope in his expression that the Lancia's spark clenched painfully, and he thought, 'to the Pit with it.'

If what he felt wasn't love, it was very damn close.

Throwing all doubts and caution to the wind, he leaned in to kiss his lover and, just before their lips met, he whispered, "I love you, Blue."

The gunner's reaction was gratifying. With a low cry, he returned Wheeljack's kiss with such a sweet ferocity that the engineer would have wept for joy if he could have.

"You… you really…" Bluestreak stammered when they parted, completely unable, for once, to form a sentence. After a few frustrated attempts, he finally gave up and just wrapped himself so firmly around the older mech that Wheeljack didn't think he would be able to pry him off if he wanted to.

"Does this mean you'll stay here with me?" Wheeljack asked lightly, stroking aimless designs across the gunner's back. Bluestreak nodded without moving away from the inventor, and Wheeljack had to laugh despite himself. "You know, I'm not going to vanish into thin air," he teased, pulling the Datsun down to lie beside him on the berth.

At last Bluestreak looked up at him. "I—I'm just having a hard time believing that I'm not dreaming," he said in a soft voice, optics bright and just a bit uncertain still.

The Lancia laughed again. "If this is a dream, then I don't want to wake up," he replied, and lovingly pressed his lips to the very center of the chevron on his lover's forehead. He couldn't help but grin back when Bluestreak smiled brilliantly at him in response.

"At least we didn't ruin your paint this time," the gunner finally commented, laying his head down on the inventor's chest. "Sunstreaker would have been _so_ mad."

Wheeljack burst into surprised laughter. "Yeah, I guess he would have," he said, chuckling. "Though we still need to get yours fixed," he added, gently touching a smudge of white on the darker armor.

"Tomorrow," Bluestreak said firmly. "I'm not getting up right now unless the 'Cons are breaking down the doors. Maybe not even then," he decided, fingers tracing the Autobot symbol emblazoned in bold red on the engineer's chestplate.

"They'll have to come drag us out of here," Wheeljack agreed, smiling.

There was silence between them for a short time, and Wheeljack had nearly drifted into recharge when the Datsun tentatively spoke his name.

"Yeah, Blue?" the inventor asked, shifting slightly to get a little more comfortable and wrapping his arms a bit tighter around his lover.

"You said that you learned the hard way, about not being able to help who you love… what did you mean? Does it have something to do with why you wear that mask all the time?" When he saw the carefully neutral expression on Wheeljack's face, he backpedaled a bit. "I'm sorry," he said quietly before the engineer had a chance to answer. "You don't have to talk about it if it bothers you—I just thought that, y'know, it might not bother you as much if you tell me what happened, since…" he hesitated, then forged bravely on, "…since I love you. I think, sometimes, it helps when someone who loves you listens. I want you to know—I'll always have a free audio for you, if you need it."

"Oh, Blue…" Wheeljack murmured, shuttering his optics. All thoughts of recharge fled; he was fully awake now. "I love you—I do—and I'm grateful for the offer, but I don't know if I can stand to relive all that again. I was…very young, and Ratchet would have said stupid and blind, besides." He shifted restlessly, and then his lips quirked in a small, involuntary smile as he unshuttered his optics. "In fact, he _did_ call me stupid and blind, as I recall."

Bluestreak slid up so that he lay on his front, half on top of Wheeljack's chest, and crossed his arms underneath his chin to watch his lover's face with half-lidded optics. "Hmm. It can't be all _that_ bad, if you can find things about it that you can smile at," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head a little so that his cheek was pillowed on one hand.

"Trust me, it was bad enough," the Lancia replied, reaching up to grip the back of Bluestreak's helm and pulling him down for a quick kiss. "Though there are other things I'd rather think about," he added in a purr, trying to change the subject. Bluestreak, however, would not be deterred.

"Uh-uh," he said firmly, pulling back. "Not until you tell me what makes you so afraid to be seen anywhere without that mask," he insisted, sitting up to give the older mech a calmly expectant look and crossing his arms over his chest.

Wheeljack sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He finally glanced back down at Bluestreak and admitted defeat when he saw the gunner's adamant expression. "I thought you said I didn't have to talk about it if I didn't want to," he muttered, one last protest against saying anything.

Bluestreak shrugged. "You don't," he replied quietly. His optics suddenly sparkled teasingly. "But you're not getting any until you do," he added, poking the engineer in the center of the chestplate.

Wheeljack gaped at him. "You extortionist," he managed incredulously. "That's not fair!" he whined, deliberately giving the gunner the most pitiful look he could muster and inwardly snickering when the younger mech appeared to waver in his resolve. At last he decided to have pity on his lover, even though the torn expression on the younger mech's face was positively adorable.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you what happened if it'll make you happy, you little blackmailer," he said gently, sitting up and coaxing Bluestreak back into his arms. Once he had the gunner arranged to both of their satisfaction, he began.

"As I said, I was young and stupid. And gullible. Mustn't forget gullible." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "This was not too long after I got my faceplate. Ratchet and I had not known each other for very long, but we were already becoming good friends since we were of an age with one another and had both been attending the Academy. We were out hunting for a place to share—we'd decided it would be cheaper, not to mention more interesting, than living alone—when we ran into this fellow named Silverspire."

"Is he the one…?" Bluestreak wondered, interrupting. Wheeljack silenced him with a quick kiss, and then continued.

"Yeah," the inventor admitted. "He was a handsome glitch, I'll give him that," he added ruefully. "And he had charisma coming out of his audio receptors. Ratchet _hated_ him, immediately; I told him he was just jealous because 'Spire was only interested in me." His hold tightened almost imperceptibly around the younger mech; Blue responded by snuggling a little closer to his lover and murmuring wordless reassurance.

Wheeljack laughed without humor. "I guess I had to learn things the hard way, as always," he said bitterly.

"You were young," the gunner replied simply. "And we all have to learn somehow; it just looks as if some of us get to have harder lessons than others." The last seemed directed more to himself than to Wheeljack, and the engineer stroked Bluestreak's shoulder comfortingly.

"Doesn't feel fair, does it?" 'Jack asked ruefully.

"I could spout something trite about life not being fair, but it's a lot more fun to moan and complain about it, isn't it? Y'know, sometimes I can almost identify with Huffer…_almost._" Bluestreak twisted about to bestow a gentle smile onto the Lancia.

Wheeljack tentatively smiled back. "Primus forbid," he said with a mock shudder. He leaned forward to nuzzle the Datsun's chevron, slipping a hand under the grey mech's bumper to caress the sensitive wiring underneath.

Bluestreak whimpered and wriggled a little at the touch, then pulled back and shook his head, laughing. "Oh no, you don't!" he exclaimed, shaking an admonishing finger at his amused lover. "You're not distracting me that easily!"

"Would've made me feel better," Wheeljack grumbled, optics twinkling, his whole demeanor more relaxed as he settled back with the gunner securely in his arms.

"I'm sure it would," Blue retorted, snorting. He poked the inventor in the side. "Nice try, by the way," he added mischievously.

"Why thank you," Wheeljack beamed. "I always endeavor to do my best."

"You're dancing around the subject," Bluestreak reminded him with another poke.

"Was I?" the Lancia asked innocently. "I didn't notice… Ow! Hey!" He gave the younger mech a reproachful look. "You didn't need to hit me," he complained good-naturedly.

"I didn't hit you that hard, you big sparkling," the Datsun muttered. He arched an optic ridge at his lover. "So, are you gonna finish your story, or not?" he asked, trying for seriousness again.

"There's not all that much more to tell, really," Wheeljack said, his earfins flickering dully in embarrassment. "I fell in love with him, and fell hard. I thought he loved me, too, so one day I…showed him my scars. He was disgusted, said he couldn't risk being seen around with such an ugly 'Bot; wasn't good for his reputation, you see." He buried his face into Bluestreak's shoulder and shuddered. "Primus. I think I'd have even bonded with the fragger, if he'd asked me. Though, if I'm being honest, he would never have asked me." He made a noise too bitter to be called laughter. "What was worse was that he told everyone he knew about what a 'mistake' he had nearly made—and I don't think I should have been surprised that he had someone else right away, though I was." At first Bluestreak thought that the engineer was finished, and then he whispered, "Everyone kept asking to see the scars—and about how I'd managed to be stupid enough to get them."

"You're not stupid!" Bluestreak exclaimed, pulling back to stare at his lover with wide optics. "You're the smartest person I know!"

Wheeljack snorted. "That's as may be," he said dryly, "but I _felt_ pretty fragging stupid, and emotions are not really all that logical, or reasonable."

"But you're not stupid—and… and you're not ugly, either—!"

The engineer made a derisive sound. "Oh, Blue, you can't honestly say that these things—" he jabbed a finger at the scars dripping across his cheeks and down his chin "are attractive. And while it's true that I would get a lot of looks if I left the mask off, they would be of disgust, or pity, and I certainly don't want that." He turned his face away, instinctively hiding it from the gunner's optics. "No matter where you go or what you do, people take notice of something that isn't the norm. A mask isn't all that unusual. Scars like these are. It doesn't help that I didn't get them in the war, or even in a barfight—I got them by playing around with something that I should have had the sense to leave well enough alone."

Wheeljack glanced back up at Bluestreak; the Datsun looked stricken. He began to say more, to apologize for the harshness in his tone—and then Blue was kissing him fiercely, muttering angrily into his lover's mouth about idiots that didn't know what they had.

"I beg your pardon?" the engineer asked, pulling back in surprise to eye the younger mech.

Bluestreak stared back with a militant gleam in his optics and said flatly, "If this Silverspire idiot was too stupid to appreciate you, then he didn't deserve you. I could throttle him _right now_ for making you think you had to hide _anything_—except, if he hadn't hurt you, you'd probably be with him now instead of me, and his loss is my gain. I _love_ you, 'Jack, and I wouldn't care if you were pink with purple polka dots and covered in scars from crown to heel. It's just an added bonus that you're easy on the optics, and I'm _not_ just blowing sunshine up your tailpipe. You may not be as pretty as Sunstreaker or Tracks, but, slaggit, you're _not ugly_!" By the end, his voice had risen to a near-shout, and he had gripped Wheeljack by the vocal indicators and was giving the engineer's head little shakes for emphasis. His voice abruptly dropped to a low, hoarse whisper. "And I can't get enough of you. You're addictive, the way you hold me as though I'm the only thing that matters to you, and the way you call my name when you overload." The last he growled right into the Lancia's audio receptor, and the older mech shivered and watched him with wide optics.

This time when Bluestreak leaned in to kiss him it was gentle, tender, and the engineer responded eagerly to his advances. He didn't resist when the gunner pushed him onto his back, and only arched up and made a little whimpering sound of need when Blue connected their systems. The Datsun flooded the link with reassurance and the love that he now knew Wheeljack would not reject, and he cried out when the inventor replied in kind. It did not take long for the sweet burn of overload to blaze through them, and it left them both feeling warm and content.

Once they had recovered and given themselves a few moments to bask in each other's presence in the link, Bluestreak carefully disconnected himself from his lover and rolled off to snuggle into the engineer's side. He smiled when Wheeljack pulled him in close, wrapping an arm around him tightly and gently caressing his cheek with the other hand. The inventor gave a soft, appreciative murmur when Blue pressed a kiss to the older mech's chestplate just before pillowing his head on his shoulder.

They did not speak; they did not feel that words were necessary between them at the moment. They slipped into recharge, still holding one another as though afraid to let go.

* * *

Prowl was already there when Jazz slipped inside their quarters, and for a moment the saboteur just stood in the entryway, content to watch his bondmate as the tactician sat curled up on their berth, peacefully reading a bookfile. After a short time, Prowl looked up at him and asked irritably, "Are you just going to stand there?" 

"Maybe," Jazz replied cheekily, grinning. "Does it bother you?"

Prowl narrowed his optics. "You know that it does," he muttered, trying to go back to his book.

Jazz wasn't having any of that, though. He flopped down on the berth beside his lover and snatched the datapad out of Prowl's hand, ignoring the Datsun's startled "Hey!"

"Whatchu readin'?" he asked, peering at the text curiously as he calmly evaded Prowl's attempts to recapture his prize. Eventually, with a frustrated noise, the tactician wrestled Jazz down and pinned his arm, plucking the datapad out of the black hand and then skittering away so that the wily saboteur couldn't take it back. He clutched it close to his chest and glared at Jazz.

"Why do you insist on tormenting me?" Prowl demanded, annoyed.

"Because it's so easy?" the Porsche replied cheerfully. Prowl scowled.

"Was there something you wanted, Jazz?" the second in command huffed in a fit of pique.

Jazz pouted. "I'm not allowed to just spend time with my bondmate?" He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the berth and gave Prowl an impish grin.

"It's never that simple with you," the Datsun said wryly, settling down onto the berth to lean into his lover. "Besides, I know that look on your face; you're planning to cause some kind of mischief that will lock up my processor, aren't you?"

"Who, me?" Jazz asked innocently. "Never!" he declared, pretending outrage and placing a hand dramatically over his spark before admitting, "Well, maybe," and grinning broadly.

"I really wish you wouldn't."

"I know."

Prowl favored him with an exasperated look. "Then why do you do it?"

Jazz pondered that for a moment. "Because it's fun?" he offered tentatively, lips twitching with the effort of holding back his amusement. Prowl just heaved a long-suffering sigh and didn't reply.

"Hey, Prowler," the Porsche said thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, "didja see Wheeljack this mornin'?"

The Datsun blinked at him, choosing to ignore the pet name. "No… why?"

"I ran into him in the corridor, headin' for medbay and lookin' happier than I've seen him in a while," Jazz mused, and Prowl's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out where his partner was going with this.

"Does this have anything to do with what you've been so amused with all day? This—whatever-it-is that you wouldn't tell me about?" he asked suspiciously.

"It might. Tell me, did Bluestreak have some white marks on him when he reported for patrol?"

"As a matter of fact, he did—oh. You don't think he finally…?"

"Well, considerin' ol' 'Jack had gray scrapes to match, I'd say that's a yes." Jazz looked distinctly amused. "Wanna go mess with him? Freak him out and make sure he knows not to hurt Blue? Plus I want to know how the big idiot finally figured it out."

Prowl sighed. "Jazz, Wheeljack is one of the kindest mechs on the Ark. I highly doubt he would knowingly hurt Blue's feelings. Out of everyone he might have picked to develop this crush on, our chief engineer is certainly one of the better choices. The only thing I've had a problem with is how long it's taken him to notice Bluestreak's… fixation."

"Reminds me of someone else I know," Jazz teased, and then added, just to be sure Prowl got the reference, "Took ya ages to even realize I was flirtin' with ya."

Prowl gave him a sour look. "Yes, well, I think we can both agree that Bluestreak is nowhere nearly as self-assured as you are," he reminded his bondmate, and the Porsche nodded.

"Yeah, he was startin' to get seriously discouraged, poor thing," the saboteur murmured pityingly. "And Wheeljack was _still_ the only thing he wanted to talk about," he added, smiling. "I don't think he woulda given up as easily as you believed."

"In any case, it appears to be a moot point now, if they're showing up in the morning covered in each other's paint," the second in command pointed out, allowing himself a small smile of his own. He thought for a moment, and Jazz could sense that he was mulling over the saboteur's earlier suggestion. "Hmm… mess with Wheeljack, you say?"

Jazz nodded enthusiastically. "Just enough to worry him a little—he knows we're serious about protectin' Blue, so he'll probably be expectin' somethin' anyway," he replied, optics sparkling beneath the visor. "We could go act the part of Blue's creators and give him 'the talk'. Make him a little nervous."

"You know," Prowl said thoughtfully, smile growing into a wicked grin, "I like the way you think."

The Porsche gave a low, sultry laugh. "And I _love_ it when you get that look on your face. What say we postpone our little torture session 'til in the morning?"

Prowl chuckled. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he murmured, reaching for his lover.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This chapter was a bit harder to write, for both myself and the evil twin; RL and the flu reared their ugly heads and put a crimp in the writing time. I want to once again thank VAWitch aka okamimyrrhibis for being an all-around awesome beta-reader, and everyone who took the time to review and tell me what you thought. Concrit makes the world go 'round. XD Love you all.

* * *

Prowl reluctantly entered the override code to Wheeljack's quarters. Invading another mech's personal space was not something he usually cared to do, but the engineer was not answering his comm and they needed every able-bodied mech to repulse the full-out assault the 'Cons had launched on America's newest power station.

He was already aware that Bluestreak had spent the night in Wheeljack's berth, so it was no surprise that when he entered, they were curled up on the 'charge pad together, resting peacefully. He grimaced at the thought of waking them—he knew that Bluestreak did not recharge well on the best of nights, and he looked so content in Wheeljack's arms that it made Prowl hesitant. He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to go about rousing them without scaring them half out of their processors, before sighing and deciding that the straightforward method was probably the best—and he slapped a switch on the wall, flooding the room with bright light.

His lips twitched in suppressed amusement at the sight of the startled and swearing pair of mechs on the berth. Bluestreak somehow managed to disentangle himself from the engineer, though he fell to the floor in the process. He sat there for a moment, looking dazed.

"Prowl?" Wheeljack asked blearily, obviously still trying to shake off the fog of recharge. "What are you doing?"

"Mustering everyone for battle. You weren't answering your comm." He nodded to the young gunner. "Bluestreak," he murmured cordially. The youngling looked mortified to have been caught with his lover by a mech that he idolized.

"Hi, Prowl," Blue stammered, leaping to his feet with a shamefaced expression. "I can explain—"

"I'm sure you can," Prowl interrupted smoothly. "However, now is not the time to do so, considering we need every available mech to report to the entrance immediately—and that includes you two. I'll be expecting you there shortly," and with that, he turned on his heel and left them scrambling to follow.

Jazz fell into step beside him as he exited the engineer's room and headed for the Ark's entrance; at the saboteur's questioning look, he said quietly, "They were definitely sharing a berth—and Blue looked like he might have been getting a proper recharge cycle for once. I hate that I had to wake them."

The Porsche made a soft, sympathetic noise. "The 'Cons picked a hell of a time to act up," he murmured before adding with a grin, "Though they _did_ manage to spare Wheeljack some indignity! Guess we'll have to catch him later, after everything calms down."

"Oh, I think he wasn't _completely_ spared from embarrassment," Prowl replied with a slight smile. "Unfortunately, Blue is just as, if not more, embarrassed as our Chief Engineer. Hopefully it won't distract him from the fight." His smile faded to a concerned look.

Jazz clapped him on the back. "Eh, don't worry, Prowl. I'm sure he'll be fine."

* * *

"Ratchet, Ratchet!" Bluestreak's desperate wail was loud enough to draw the medic's attention away from Hound and across the field to where the gunner stood, waving his arms for attention. The 'Cons had finally been routed, but it had taken the better part of the day and they had still managed to make off with a great deal of energy. Ratchet and every other 'Bot that had some modicum of medical training were kept busy stabilizing the wounded for transport—Megatron and his goons had been feeling particularly brutal this time around, it seemed, and the list of injured was high, although they had miraculously not lost anyone.

Ratchet glanced at Sideswipe, who, despite his own injuries, had been shadowing him ever since one of the Seekers had decided to take a shot at him. (It was only a minor wound, and he'd gotten off a good shot at the jet in exchange for the singed plating, but his bondmates were irrational glitches and refused to believe him when he said he was fine.) "Go see what Bluestreak is panicking about," he told the Lamborghini quietly. "I can't leave Hound; he's not stable enough yet." When he felt the stubborn reluctance to leave him alone emanating from Sideswipe's part of the bond, he made a rude noise and glared at the red Lamborghini. "Go on, now—the enemy is gone, and I'm fine," he snapped. "If someone over there needs help, I need to know it."

His attention returned to the wounded scout as Sideswipe reluctantly obeyed him, and then he sighed in frustration as Sunstreaker, one arm hanging useless by his side, took his brother's place. The militant gleam in Sunstreaker's optics, however, told him far better than words could that it was futile to argue with the warrior; neither of them would ever give an inch when it came to protecting him.

He was about to say something scathing anyway when Sideswipe tentatively reached out to him. ::Ratch? How… how quick will you be done with Hound?::

The red twin's tone put him on edge—it wasn't like Sideswipe to be so hesitant. ::Just a couple more minutes—why?::

::'Cause you need to get over here, soon as you can. It's… real bad. Blue and I have got him held together as best we can, but neither of us has had any medical training beyond rough field dressing,:: Sides sent back, obviously upset. Sunstreaker was peering curiously toward his twin, squinting as though that would help him see what was going on.

Ratchet felt a niggling sense of foreboding as he sent a wordless affirmative. He made the last few emergency repairs on Hound before waving to the nearby Blades and Hot Spot to come take the Jeep to be loaded into Skyfire for transport back to the Ark. Once his current patient had been safely seen to, he and Sunstreaker cautiously made their way over to where Sideswipe and an anxious Bluestreak were waiting on them.

"Oh, Primus, Wheeljack," the medic whispered when he got a proper look at what, or rather, who, lay offline on the ground next to where Bluestreak knelt. The gunner was clutching his lover's hand desperately, alternating between telling him he would be alright and pleading for him to stay with them. "Alright, out of the way," Ratchet said brusquely, shoving his emotions under lock and key as he pushed past Sideswipe to drop down beside his oldest friend.

He grimaced before he could stop himself; someone had really done a number on the Lancia. He looked like he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life. Thankfully, though, Ratchet had seen Wheeljack do worse injury to himself and survive, and he was confident that the engineer was in no real danger now—provided he could get the leaks sealed off.

"Calm down, Blue," the CMO said gently. "He'll be just fine—it looks a lot worse than it is. This isn't even as bad as some of the times I've seen him blow himself up."

"Really?" Bluestreak asked, looking up at the medic hopefully.

"Really," Ratchet reassured him, nodding at the young gunner with a small smile before turning his optics back to those of the engineer's wounds that required immediate attention.

There was a moment of silence, then: "It was all my fault!" Blue burst out, sounding thoroughly miserable. "If only I hadn't—"

"Whoa, whoa, wait—what's your fault?" Ratchet interrupted, looking up at the gunner with wide optics.

"Oh, now, Blue, you can't think that!" Sideswipe said at the same time, fisting his hands on his hips and scowling down at the smaller Datsun.

"It_is_ my fault—I distracted him, and Devastator swatted him because of it!"

Ratchet eyed Wheeljack incredulously. "Really, Wheeljack, Devastator? I would have thought you had more sense than that," he muttered. "Though that explains why you look like you've run headlong into a cliff…"

Sideswipe eased down to the ground next to Bluestreak and put a hand on the gunner's shoulder. "C'mon, Blue, there's no way that anyone could have predicted that this would happen. I saw it all, and 'Jack getting slapped by Devastator was more a case of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time than any distraction you might have been." He gave the grey mech a little shake. "Besides that, Ratchet said he's gonna be just fine, so cheer up, okay?" The red twin's voice took on a decidedly teasing tone. "Being without him for one night ain't gonna send you into withdrawal, kid, no matter how much it sucks."

"_Sideswipe_!" Bluestreak squawked, horrified at the older mech's implication.

The Lamborghini scoffed, grinning. "You didn't honestly think that we didn't know, did you?" he asked, both amused and relieved that he'd managed to distract the gunner from his worrying. "You two are a little, ah, loud," he added, and gleefully watched Bluestreak's optics brighten in mortification.

"You guys aren't exactly quiet yourselves," the Datsun snapped, seemingly before he could stop himself, and then clamped his jaw shut and refused to look at anyone.

Ratchet snorted. "Are you two done arguing?" he asked icily. When he received nothing but a mulish look from Bluestreak and a pleased smirk from Sideswipe, he added, "Good, because he's online now," and turned back to his work.

"'Jack!" Bluestreak exclaimed, leaning in close to the older mech in relief. "When I saw you go down, I thought you were a goner! I was so scared—"

Wheeljack gave a painful chuckle. "Ah, I'm tougher than that, Blue," he rasped, twining his fingers with the grey hand that held his own. "I'll be back to blowing myself up again before you know it."

Ratchet scowled and gave a sharp tug on the wire he held in his hand, causing the engineer to yelp in astonishment. "What was that for, Ratch'?" he snapped.

"Why'd you hurt him?" Bluestreak cried, aghast.

Ratchet smirked at the gunner. "He likes it. Why else do you think he blows himself up so often?" Bluestreak looked horrified.

Wheeljack glared at the medic. "Oh, shove it up your exhaust, wise-aft, you're scarin' him."

Ratchet flicked his old friend on the side of the helm. "See, Blue? If he's well enough to spout insults, then he can't be that badly hurt. We'll have him back on his feet in no time."

Bluestreak glanced back and forth between medic and engineer, bewildered. Sideswipe grinned and slung an arm over the gunner's shoulders. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it, Blue. They tend to bicker like an old bonded couple," the Lamborghini said confidingly. Ratchet and Wheeljack both turned the force of their glares onto the red warrior. Sideswipe only smiled disarmingly and said, "Oh, look, there's Skyfire." He pointed to the big shuttle landing nearby, getting ready to ferry the wounded back to base.

Ratchet snorted. "Don't think you're distracting us that easy, Sides," he said warningly. "We _will_ get you back for that."

Sideswipe laughed at his bondmate. "You can't get me, you know. I'm the master of the prank," he pointed out.

"Oh, we'll find a way," Wheeljack replied, earfins flickering weakly in amusement.

At that moment Brawn and Ironhide came upon the little group in their search for wounded to load into Skyfire. Ironhide grimaced when he caught sight of the mangled frame of the engineer. "Is it safe to move him, doc?" the van asked, concerned.

Ratchet nodded. "It looks worse than it is. Wheeljack's pretty tough, but then he's had a lot of practice at getting injured," he said with a tired smile.

"C'mon, 'Hide, let's get this lug-nut to his ride," Sideswipe said with an obscene amount of cheer. Ironhide just shook his head and helped the red Lamborghini hoist Wheeljack up off of the ground and carry him to the waiting shuttle-former.

"Hey, go easy, would ya!" the engineer yelped as they hauled him off. Bluestreak tried to go after him, but Ratchet caught his shoulder just as he started away.

"You're not gonna want to hear this, but you're not hurt enough to warrant a ride back to base. It's gonna be standing room only as it is—Skyfire won't thank you for the added weight." Ratchet smiled slightly to take the sting out of his words. "Even _I'm_ not hitching a ride back, even though as a surgeon I should stay with my patients. If you want, you can go back with us." For half a pump-beat, the medic thought that Bluestreak would ignore him, but the gunner finally nodded his reluctant acquiescence.

Ratchet turned to Sunstreaker and eyed him critically. "Can you even transform, or do I need to haul you back, too?" he asked bluntly, optics on the right arm that hung motionless at the Lamborghini's side.

The Lamborghini grimaced. "I can try," he muttered, and initiated his transformation sequence. At about halfway through he aborted, and once he was back in his primary mode he shook his head. "The arm doesn't work at all," he said grimly. "If I were already in alt mode it wouldn't be a problem—but I can't switch to alt mode with it not responding. I think the motor controls are severed."

Ratchet gripped the golden shoulder and tugged the loosened armor there up for a better look. He made a face at what he saw. "Yeah, they're severed all right. Clean through. Not too hard to fix, but we'll have to get you to medbay." He transformed into his own alt mode. "Now, get in so we can get back."

"I can walk," Sunstreaker growled.

The medic snorted. "Yeah, and collapse into stasis lock from lack of energy halfway there, making my job even harder. I don't think so—Get. In." Bluestreak gaped in shock when the Lamborghini merely growled and then, as docile as the gunner had ever seen him, climbed inside the ambulance, though Ratchet yelped and cursed angrily when he slammed the door in a fit of vindictiveness. "You sorry son of a slagging grease-monkey!" the CMO snarled, shaking himself a little on his suspension just to rattle his bondmate around a bit. "Take your frustration out on someone else!" A muffled snickering sound was his only answer, and Ratchet huffed in annoyance.

"I will never, ever understand his moods," he told Bluestreak grimly, and the Datsun just stared back at him, optics wide and, for once, speechless.

The ambulance chuckled softly at the expression on the younger mech's faceplates. "Sideswipe's right, you know. You've managed to fall in with the grouchiest bunch of bots on Earth or Cybertron, but you'll get used to us eventually. Now come on, Skyfire's getting ready to take off, and I don't want to get left behind."

The bemused gunner could only transform and follow.

* * *

Ratchet leaned back from the repair table as he closed up the last of the critically wounded patients in the medbay, and then he turned to start cleaning up. Swoop, First Aid, Perceptor, and Hoist had already finished with the less difficult repairs, with the exception of the Lamborghini twins. The CMO insisted on fixing them himself regardless of how tired he was, and he ignored the protests of his apprentices and colleagues that they were perfectly capable of treating the twins' minor wounds.

As if his thoughts had summoned them, his bondmates appeared at his side. Sideswipe reached out to gently stroke taut cables in Ratchet's back, gradually easing the tension he found there. Sunstreaker hitched himself up to half-lean, half-sit on the side of a nearby repair berth, extending his one working arm to caress the side of his lover's face with a tenderness that most people who knew him would never believe him capable of.

Ratchet relaxed into the ministrations of his bondmates with a grateful sigh. "Once I finish with you two, I think we'll be done in here," he murmured, settling back into Sideswipe's embrace. The red warrior nuzzled the white helm in response.

"We could all do with some recharge," Sunstreaker said softly.

Ratchet nodded, pulling away from the red twin to inspect the severed cables in the yellow's damaged arm. "It won't take but a minute to get this done, and the sooner we get started the sooner we can all get some rest. It won't hurt Swoop and First Aid to watch the 'bay for a little while."

"This from the same 'Bot who, before we were bonded, would sooner collapse from energy drain before leaving a single patient in the medbay?" Sideswipe teased gently. "I think we may actually be getting through to him, Sunny."

"What, Ratchet actually take care of himself?" Sunstreaker asked with mock astonishment.

Ratchet struggled put a scowl on his faceplates, but it was no use trying to fool the Lamborghinis as his amusement at their banter leaked through the bond. He closed up the armor plating on Sunstreaker's newly repaired arm, and then leaned forward to kiss the yellow twin softly. Sunstreaker leaned into the medic's embrace with a breathy little whimper, then pulled back to lay his head against the white shoulder. Ratchet looked up at Sideswipe with a somber expression. "Primus knows I don't say this often enough, but you two are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, voice raspy with emotion.

"And here I thought we were the bane of your existence," Sideswipe laughed, completely irreverent. Ratchet swatted him affectionately.

"I was being serious," he protested, annoyed. He started to say more, but Sunstreaker neatly derailed him by putting his mouth right next to the medic's audio and breathing softly, "_I love you._" He shut his mouth with a click and pulled back to stare at the yellow Lamborghini with his emotions written all over his faceplate. After a moment, he whispered, "I love you, too," and pressed a chaste kiss to his bondmate's lips.

"What about me?" Sideswipe pouted, tugging Ratchet away from his brother and back into his arms, but whatever the medic might have said was lost in the red warrior's hiss when Ratchet accidentally brushed the wound in his side.

"Alright, Sideswipe, up on the table with you," Ratchet ordered. "Sunstreaker, make some room for your brother."

"Hey, wouldja take a look at that," Sideswipe said, nodding toward the repair berth where Wheeljack lay as he took his twin's place on the table. "Poor kid's completely worn out," he added, smiling slightly at the sight of Bluestreak, slumped over in a chair beside the resting engineer and deep in recharge.

Ratchet snorted as he took Sideswipe's pain receptors offline and began welding fresh plating over the hole in the Lamborghini's chassis. "He won't be very happy in the morning if he stays in that chair," the medic replied dryly. He glanced at the young gunner, and his expression softened marginally. "We'll wake him up and let him rest on this table when we're done," he added in a quiet voice. "I'd say there's about as much chance of separating him from Wheeljack right about now as there is of getting you two apart when one of you is hurt." He raised his optics to meet Sideswipe's gaze and gave him a crooked grin. "You know, you were right about them. As odd as it is—they make each other happy."

Sideswipe chuckled. "So I did good?" he asked, smiling widely.

Ratchet couldn't help but laugh at his lover's childish tone. "Yeah, you did good," he replied, optics playfully bright.

"You two are such saps," Sunstreaker commented idly, though he, too, looked mildly amused.

The medic shrugged and put away the tools he'd been using to repair Sideswipe. "Whatever," he said, "just help me with him, would you?

* * *

"I hear you've got a new roommate," Hound said in a kindly voice as he sat down next to Bluestreak in the common room the next day. The gunner gave him a warm smile that did not quite hide the exhaustion showing through in his expression.

"Yeah," Blue replied shyly. "'Jack's been very, uh… nice to me. He offered me a berth in his quarters when he learned that I was gonna be by myself. He should be out of the medbay pretty soon—I was gonna stay with him, but Ratchet kicked me out and said I better get myself refueled or else. Looks like you got kicked out, too," he added, taking in the new weld scars crossing the scout's midsection.

Hound rubbed the biggest of them absently. "I'm good as new," he replied, smiling. "Whatever else you can say about our CMO, he does a bang-up job when it comes to repairs."

Bluestreak nodded. "First Aid and Swoop are getting to be pretty good, too, and Perceptor isn't too bad for a scientist," he mused.

"We've got a pretty talented medical team, that's for sure," Hound agreed. He eyed the grey Datsun a little more closely. He shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of how to breach the subject he had actually come here to speak about. Finally, he just came out and said it. "Blue… I've been hearing that… well, that you're sharing more than just quarters with Wheeljack," he said hesitantly.

Bluestreak stared at him in embarrassed astonishment. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

Hound met the younger mech's optics with a level gaze. "Mirage," he replied honestly. "He said that you were late for patrol the day before yesterday, and that when you did show up you were covered in stripes of Wheeljack's colors." If they'd been human, Hound was pretty sure that the gunner's cheeks would be aflame by now. "Blue," he said gently, "are you sure that this is not just some infatuation? I don't want to see you get hurt."

Bluestreak frowned. "You know that 'Jack wouldn't hurt a glitch-mouse, Hound, not on purpose," he protested. He paused, then added in a soft, tentative voice, "And I'm sure it's not just some silly crush—not for me, and not for 'Jack either. He's trusted me with some things about himself that I'm pretty sure only he and Ratchet knew until he told me." His expression became earnest. "He said that he loves me," he added, as though daring Hound to say anything against the engineer.

The scout regarded Blue thoughtfully for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. He swallowed the last of the energon he'd brought to the table with him and stood to go, though he laid a hand on the Datsun's shoulder before he left. "Well, Blue, if you're happy, then that's all that matters," he said quietly.

Bluestreak watched as Hound made his way out of the room; somehow, knowing that he had his friend's approval gave him a warm feeling in his spark. Quickly finishing the rest of his own energon, he got up to go back to Wheeljack. He couldn't bear to be away from him for any longer than necessary.

* * *

Somehow, Wheeljack was not surprised to see Jazz and Prowl waiting for him when Ratchet finally let him leave the medbay.

"So, I heard you got clobbered by Devastator," the saboteur greeted him, and Wheeljack nodded warily. Eyeing him closely, Jazz continued, "Little Boy Blue was pretty worried about you. Stayed next to ya the whole night, and the Hatchet didn't even kick him out 'til this mornin'."

"I know," Wheeljack replied quietly.

"He does seem to have gotten very attached to you," Prowl remarked casually, arms crossed over his front bumper. The tactician lifted an optic ridge at the slightly defensive posture Wheeljack had taken.

::Make him worry a little bit, Prowler,:: Jazz sent across their bond. Prowl's lips twitched imperceptibly as he struggled valiantly not to smile at the mischievous glee which permeated Jazz's thoughts.

::I think I'll see just how serious he is about this:: the tactician sent back. Aloud, he said calmly, "You _do_ realize how many regulations the pair of you are breaking, don't you? Considering you're an officer and he's not?" Prowl took a certain amount of grim satisfaction in the look of horror, and then fury, that suffused Wheeljack's expression.

"You wouldn't dare cause him any trouble—"

"No," Prowl interrupted succinctly. "As long as you're serious about this—about _him_—then I won't say a word." He gave the engineer an ironic look. "I took him under my wing, so to speak, when he joined the Autobots. His well-being is very important to me. If I have to throw the rulebook at you two to protect him, I will."

"I guess what Prowl is being too nice to say, is that if you hurt him, it will _not_ be pretty," Jazz said quietly. Wheeljack narrowed his optics at the saboteur. Finally, he nodded.

"I sorta figured that," he replied in a soft voice, vocal indicators flickering uncertainly. "I swear, on my oath as an Autobot, that I will never knowingly hurt him," he added fiercely. He paused a moment before adding, "And you can shove it up your exhaust pipes and _twist_, you nosey busybodies." Jazz gave a bark of laughter.

"You'll do," the Porsche chuckled. He looked about to say more, but the object of their conversation chose that very moment to come running up, calling Wheeljack's name in relieved tones.

It was obvious that the young grey mech had optics only for his lover. He went straight into Wheeljack's arms, burrowing into the engineer with a fierce hug and rambling about how glad he was that Wheeljack was alright, and he was so sorry he had distracted him—

"Whoa, whoa, easy," the Lancia chuckled. "It wasn't your fault that I wandered into Devastator's line of sight," he said, wrapping his arms around the gunner and rubbing his back soothingly.

"How ya doin', Blue?" Jazz asked cheerfully, surprising the younger Datsun and causing him to take a startled leap away from Wheeljack with a guilty expression. Jazz just smiled innocently as Wheeljack glared and deliberately drew Bluestreak back into his embrace, the gunner protesting weakly the whole time.

Prowl cast Jazz a significant glance. "I think we've seen all we need to, don't you Jazz?" he asked mildly.

"Right you are, love," the saboteur replied cheekily. "I don't know about you, but I had some…_plans_ for our day off."

The black and white Datsun merely lifted an optic ridge at his lover's sensuous tone and Wheeljack's poorly muffled snicker. "Wheeljack, Bluestreak," he said, with a nod to each as he grabbed the Porsche's arm and the two of them set off down the hallway at a brisk pace. Just before they went out of sight, Jazz looked over his shoulder, giving the Lancia and the Datsun a thumbs up and a wide grin. Then they were gone.

"What was that all about? I've never seen them acting so strange. Do you think something's wrong—?" Bluestreak chattered nervously. Wheeljack interrupted with the flow of words by gently cupping Blue's face in his palms and pressing their foreheads together.

"I don't think there's anything wrong at all, Blue," he murmured. "Actually, in a roundabout way, I think we just got permission and approval all at once."

Bluestreak just blinked at him in bemusement for a moment, then peered down the hall after his mentors. "Huh," he said. His gaze returned to the engineer, and his expression became decidedly coy. "Y'know, we have the day off, too…"

Wheeljack burst out laughing and hugged the gunner to him. "So we do," he chortled, and pulled the younger mech after him in the direction of their quarters.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Well, folks, this is it: the final chapter. I had thought perhaps there would be a few more, but the muse decided otherwise, and decided to go ahead and wrap it up. I hope you all have enjoyed this story as much as I have; I feel kinda sad that it's over.

However, chapter the second of Lapsus Memoriae is well on its way to completion; I hope to have it up within the next week. Thanks to everyone who reviewed—you guys have kept us going with this story, and we're grateful for all of the love and the constructive criticism you've showered us with. XD

Also, huge, huge thanks to VAWitch, for being such an awesome beta-reader and catching all the mistakes, large and small, that I'm too blind to see.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Bluestreak could not recall having ever felt so contentedly exhausted. He checked his energy levels; they were not as low as they would have been if the twins had not caught them on their way to their quarters and pressed some of their home-brewed high grade into their hands. They said it was to celebrate everyone coming back alive after yesterday's battle, and neither Bluestreak nor Wheeljack had protested the unexpected gift. Indeed, they had been very judicious in their use of it, keeping their fuel levels up as they spent their day off together memorizing just what exactly it took to drive each other wild.

The gunner's gaze was drawn to his lover's face when Wheeljack, recharging peacefully, shifted a little and muttered something unintelligible. Blue curled into him a bit closer, and the Lancia stilled with a pleased sigh. The Datsun gave a happy sigh of his own, once again marveling at the feeling of being in love, and being loved in return. For the first time since the destruction of his home, the burning need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter did not eat at him; lying here, in the comfort of his lover's arms, secure in the knowledge of his love, was enough to keep the demons at least temporarily at bay.

On a whim, Bluestreak carefully eased himself up on one elbow, taking a moment to study his beloved's scarred visage. It was really not so bad, he decided. And, as he had told Wheeljack, it truly wouldn't have bothered him if it had been. So what if others thought him unattractive—wasn't it enough that Bluestreak found him attractive? Impulsively he reached up to brush his fingers across the inventor's lips—they were warm enough, and pleasantly pliant when pressed against his own. He yanked his hand back as though burned when Wheeljack murmured, "Couldn't recharge?" and unshuttered his optics to look at him.

"Not really," Bluestreak admitted, embarrassed at having let the engineer startle him into such a reaction. After all, he'd had his hands in much less innocent places over the course of the past few hours, and Wheeljack certainly hadn't _objected_. "I'm still kinda keyed up," he added sheepishly, and his lover gave a soft chuckle.

"I'm not enough to wear you out, am I?" he teased, and Bluestreak ducked his head shyly. He opened his mouth to protest that Wheeljack was more than enough to make him happy—he suppressed a shiver at the thought of the way that the engineer had set his circuits ablaze with sensation—but 'Jack gently kissed him, effectively preventing him from saying anything.

Pit, he was finding it hard to _think_ now, let alone to _talk_.

"Mm, love you," Bluestreak breathed, nipping playfully at his lover's lips as they parted and grinning at the way the Lancia's optics brightened. A sudden surge of energy through his circuits made his own optics widen as he abruptly realized that they had neglected to disconnect their systems after the last time they had uplinked, and he moaned despite himself as the dormant connection was renewed.

_:Love you:_ whispered across the link along with a flood of sensory information that made Bluestreak gasp and press himself tightly against Wheeljack's chassis. He dug his hands into the inventor's armor seams, searching for a particular bundle of wiring he'd discovered earlier—_there_ it was—and the white mech beneath him cried out sharply with the pleasure of it. The feedback from that alone was nearly enough to send Bluestreak into overload—and then Wheeljack, his energy levels already low from their earlier activities, gave out completely after a couple more strokes and dragged the gunner over the edge with him.

For a few hazy, euphoric moments they lay entwined and exhausted, and Wheeljack absently caressed Bluestreak's back and doorwings, causing the Datsun to shiver periodically.

Vaguely, on the periphery of conscious thought in the edges of his CPU, he was aware of Wheeljack thinking, debating something within himself—and then he did something that shocked Bluestreak to within an inch of his life.

He dropped all of his firewalls, and invited the gunner in.

::_Bond with me,_:: the engineer whispered. ::_To the Pit with the consequences._::

Bluestreak's first reaction—what humans might call 'gut instinct'—was complete, unmitigated _horror_. He could feel his lover's confusion beginning to melt into a terrible hurt, but all he could think was, '_He'll know!'_

"Bluestreak…?" Wheeljack asked, plaintive. "Blue, please, what's wrong?"

The gunner realized that he was shaking his head in unthinking negation, and he forced himself to be still. _Why, oh why did he have to…?_ "I—I can't," he managed miserably. "I just—I can't." With shaking fingers, he disconnected Wheeljack's interface cable from his data port and then scrambled up off of the berth and stood there, trembling. He knew that what the inventor had just done was irreversible. He would forever after be wide open to Bluestreak, now that his firewalls had been configured to accommodate the young gunner.

"At least… at least tell me _why_." The Lancia's voice was raw pain, and Bluestreak's spark twisted excruciatingly at the sound—but how could he ever let Wheeljack in that deep, how could he bear for his lover to see exactly how weak he'd been during the destruction of his hometown? Instead of standing strong with his family, he'd hidden like a spineless sparkling and watched through the ventilation grate as they'd slaughtered his creator and his creator's sib. Wheeljack was so brave—he would regret tying himself to a coward for the rest of his life.

_Why couldn't he just leave it as it was?_ He had been so happy in the engineer's arms; he could forget about the war, and about his hometown, when Wheeljack held him. But now… if they ever interfaced again… Bluestreak shuddered. His lover's spark called out to him like a siren's song, and he didn't think he would be strong enough to resist if Wheeljack offered himself up to him again. He took an involuntary step forward, and knew that his longing was written all over his face when the engineer's expression took on a hopeful tinge.

When Wheeljack made as though to stand up, reaching his hands out to draw the gunner into an embrace, Bluestreak panicked.

He bolted.

By the time he realized where he was going, he was back in his own quarters. Mechanically, he locked the door and then sank down onto his berth, burying his face in his hands and struggling not to give voice to his anguish.

He'd just lost the love of his life, all because he was a sparkless coward. Wheeljack would never forgive him, he was certain.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Wheeljack stared dully at the closed door long after Bluestreak had fled and tried not to let the pain and bitterness of the rejection overwhelm him. He had offered up himself, had been so _sure_ of Bluestreak's feelings for him…

Instead, the gunner had been shocked when he dropped the firewalls protecting his core programming and his spark.

He replayed the disaster in his head; he had thought that Bluestreak would accept his offer to bond, but the younger mech had practically radiated terror before he had broken their link. It confused him, made him wonder what Blue could possibly have done to be so afraid of letting him in.

_'Is he afraid of _me?' he wondered, before dismissing the idea out of hand. Now that the initial hurt had passed, he could sit back and think objectively about what had gone wrong—and Blue had been far too relaxed with him before he'd dropped his firewalls for the fault to lie with him. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face—and suddenly realized that he had no idea where his mask had gone. "I'll find it later," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He stood, needing to pace, needing to do _something_ instead of sitting there on the berth and doing _nothing_. He leaped back with a startled yell when his door slid open and a furious Jazz swept into the room.

"What did you _do_ to him?" the saboteur hissed, his usual jovial demeanor subsumed by the force of his anger.

"What?" Wheeljack asked, taken aback.

"Bluestreak," Jazz snapped. "He ran past me in a blur, lookin' like his spark had broken. _What did you do?_"

"I didn't do anything deliberate, unless you think that offering to bond with him was intended to hurt him!" the engineer snarled back without thinking, too enraged by the Porsche's sheer nerve at coming in here to question him to consider what he was saying.

"You what?" Jazz asked softly, all of the fight fading out of him at Wheeljack's reply.

Feeling defeated, he repeated himself. "I offered to bond with him. Dropped my firewalls for him and everything, and he ran away." He sank wearily back down onto his berth and hid his face in his hands. "I don't know what went wrong. I thought everything was going right." He shuddered despite himself, and then ended up spilling everything to the saboteur in a broken whisper, even though normally he would not have considered the black and white mech a confidant. "I let him in—he's imprinted on my spark now—I'll never have another. Not that I want anyone else…" He trailed off for a moment, then forged on. "I don't understand! He was flat fragging terrified! I was so sure that he would _want_ me—"

Jazz interrupted him with a tired sigh. "Blue ain't the most confident mech in the ranks, if you haven't noticed that by now," he said quietly. "I'd say the load of guilt he carries on his shoulders is what's gotten him so jumpy."

"Guilt?" Wheeljack echoed, confused. "What could he possibly feel so guilty about?"

The Porsche gave him a humorless smile. "Ever heard of survivor's guilt?" he asked grimly. "Bluestreak was the only survivor of a Decepticon attack on his hometown. Accordin' to Blue, he should've died there in the ruins—livin' is a betrayal of his people and his family. Apparently, he watched the 'Cons kill 'em while he hid away. Never mind the fact that he couldn't have been more'n a youngling when it happened, and the smartest thing he coulda done was to just keep his head down. He don't believe that, more's the pity."

"Primus," Wheeljack breathed. "I didn't know—I would never have pushed him like that if… oh, slag! What now?" He felt positively miserable by this point. He'd been crass and insensitive to not even ask what Bluestreak thought about the whole thing, just assuming that the gunner would want to bond with him, and on top of it all, the half-formed link was beginning to ache _abominably._

"Well, you're not gonna let him go, are ya?" Jazz asked sharply, and Wheeljack didn't even have to think about it before shaking his head.

"Of course not," he retorted, pushing himself back to his feet. "In fact, I'm gonna go look for him right now," he added, glaring at the saboteur as though daring him to stop him.

Jazz merely offered him an enigmatic smile. "If you're goin' out, you might want this," he said and, to Wheeljack's dawning horror, held up the inventor's mask. "It's not that bad, you know," the Porsche added, but Wheeljack just snapped the mask back into place with a mortified glare and stalked out of the room in search of his lover.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

By the end of the week, Wheeljack was beginning to think that Bluestreak had been taking lessons in sneaking from Jazz or the twins, except Jazz and the twins had been trying to help the Lancia catch him.

Subtly, of course. Didn't want to scare him again.

The unfinished bond was a constant dull pain in the background of his processors; Ratchet had told him grimly that there was nothing to be done for it except to complete the process, if and when he could get his partner to stop avoiding him. Wheeljack hoped that Bluestreak got over his reluctance soon—Sideswipe was getting frustrated at the lack of progress, and the engineer was afraid that the red twin might do something drastic in an attempt to help and end up making the whole situation worse.

In a fit of desperation, he had finally agreed to let the red Lamborghini help him break into the Datsun's room so that he could be there when he got in from patrol. It was acutely embarrassing that he'd sunk to this level, but something had to give or Wheeljack thought he might go mad. Bluestreak was apparently not going to budge, even though it was obvious that he was just as upset as Wheeljack was over the whole thing.

So it was that the engineer found himself sitting on Bluestreak's 'charge pad, waiting for the moment that the younger mech came back while his nerves jangled so badly that he almost couldn't be still. Sighing unhappily, he flopped back down on the berth in an attempt to calm himself down.

He only realized that he'd fallen into recharge when the sound of the door cycling open woke him.

"Wheeljack!" Bluestreak gasped and turned to leave again, but the Lancia was already up and across the room and wrapping his arms around the gunner to keep him from escaping.

"Blue, wait, please!" On hearing the engineer's beseeching tone, the struggling young Datsun finally stilled, though he did not relax. "You've been avoiding me," Wheeljack said quietly. "You're almost as hard to get hold of as Jazz is when he doesn't want to be found."

"Please don't make this harder than it already is," Bluestreak mumbled against his shoulder.

"I don't understand what's so hard about it—I love you, Blue," the Lancia replied earnestly, pulling away from the gunner far enough to look into his optics. His own optics widened in surprise when Bluestreak flinched at his admission. He gripped the younger mech by his shoulders and held him out at arms length and said fiercely, "Tell me you don't love me, Blue, and I swear I'll never speak of it again!"

The Datsun's expression became that of a cornered animal, and then his face crumpled in anguish. "I—I can't!" he whimpered, and collapsed into Wheeljack's arms so abruptly that the inventor nearly overbalanced and fell. "I c-can't!" he sobbed, harsh heaves wracking his body even though their kind was incapable of producing tears.

"Shh, Blue, it's alright," 'Jack murmured, one hand cupping the side of Bluestreak's head where it lay pillowed on his shoulder, thumb stroking the pale cheek soothingly, while the other rubbed gentle circles between the gunner's doorwings. The engineer lost track of how long they stood there before Blue's shaking calmed and, finally, stopped.

"I'm such a c-coward," Bluestreak hiccoughed after what seemed like an eternity of silence. "You don't w-want to be bonded to a coward, 'Jack."

"Oh, Blue," Wheeljack said helplessly, arms tightening involuntarily around the younger mech. "You're no coward—and _I'll_ decide who I want to be bonded to, if you please. Besides, I couldn't change my mind now if I wanted to—my permissions are all keyed to you."

"I'm sorry," the Datsun replied in a small voice, shrinking into himself a little in the engineer's embrace, but Wheeljack shook his head.

"Not your fault," he said ruefully. "I was an idiot for not asking what you wanted first. I just… did it. Didn't think beyond the moment—I just knew that you were the one I wanted for the rest of my life, so I acted." He paused, then added sheepishly, "I can be a bit impulsive sometimes."

It took so long for Bluestreak to reply that Wheeljack wondered if maybe he'd fallen into recharge—judging by his haggard appearance, he hadn't been resting any better than Wheeljack had over the past week. At last, though, the gunner asked softly, "Does it hurt? Having the bond unfinished, I mean."

"I—yeah," the Lancia admitted. "It's… not all that pleasant."

Wheeljack's fuel pump stuttered and skipped a beat when he felt the younger mech's arms wind hesitantly around him. "Then—then we should complete it," Bluestreak breathed, and the nervous uncertainty in his voice made the inventor's spark ache.

"Blue," he said gently, "we don't have to do this just to spare me some pain. You shouldn't tie yourself to someone just because you feel obligated—"

"I don't feel obligated!" Bluestreak interrupted insistently. He lifted his head and met the older mech's gaze. "I love you," he added softly. "I just—I don't deserve you. And I was—am—afraid that, if I let you into my spark, you won't want me anymore." He sounded as though it nearly killed him to make that admission.

Sorrow filled Wheeljack when he heard the unhappiness in the younger mech's voice. "Look, that's not going to happen, I promise you that! I love you, Bluestreak, lumps and all—and didn't you tell me the same damn thing not so very long ago? I seem to recall you saying that you didn't care if I were pink with purple polka dots—" Wheeljack brightened when that got a weak chuckle out of the grey mech. "Am I not allowed to feel the same for you?" He let go of Blue long enough to pull his facemask off. "I showed you my scars," he said quietly. "Can you trust me with yours?"

Bluestreak's answer was to crush their lips together in a fiercely passionate kiss. When the gunner's hand found that particularly sensitive bundle of wiring, Wheeljack's legs refused to support him anymore and he crashed to the ground, dragging the younger mech down on top of him and mindlessly stroking his doorwings. "_Need,_" Bluestreak whined, and he found one of Wheeljack's data ports and locked his cable into place with a soft 'snick'.

They were both too frantic, too desperate, to make it last, and overload took them almost before they even realized what had happened. It was in the aftermath, as both of them were coming down from the release and excess energy still crackled along all of their relays, that Bluestreak chose to delve deeply into his lover's spark—and took down his own firewalls.

Wheeljack gasped, and suddenly they were _one_, nothing separating them as their sparks and minds entwined. Though neither was sure where the thought had come from, they both agreed that, if _this_ was what Ratchet shared with the twins, then it was no wonder the medic was so happy with them.

They held nothing back from one another. They _couldn't_ hold anything back—but there was no accusation, only acceptance.

After what could have been hours or mere minutes, they could feel themselves finally receding back into their own consciousnesses, but they knew, now, that they would never again be fully apart.

Bluestreak unshuttered his optics to see that he still lay sprawled on top of his bondmate. He felt a little giddy thrill at being able to call Wheeljack that, and he heard the engineer chuckle softly when he caught both the feeling and the thought. He carefully disconnected himself from the Lancia, and marveled when the strength of the older mech's presence in his CPU didn't abate. "Don't laugh at me," he protested weakly when Wheeljack's amusement at his wonderment became more pronounced.

::Can't help it. It's cute:: echoed in his processor, and the inventor laughed aloud at Bluestreak's expression of slack-jawed, starry-eyed amazement on 'hearing' his voice in his head.

"You let everyone think you're older than you are," Wheeljack commented idly, absently letting his fingers rub along the joints of the gunner's doorwings. Blue stiffened, and apprehension bled through the new bond. "It's alright," the Lancia quickly reassured him. "I don't think any less of you for it. It's just a surprise, is all. You were still a youngling in truth until very recently, if you don't count all the time we spent in stasis, weren't you?"

Hesitantly, Bluestreak nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, sliding off of Wheeljack to lie beside him on the floor. "All of my records were destroyed with my city. It made it easy to lie about my age, though the recruitment officer was suspicious. Still, he couldn't prove anything in the end, and no one wanted to deny me the right to fight the bastards who razed my home." He laid his head on Wheeljack's shoulder as he curled into the older mech's chassis.

"Just don't tell Prime. Or Prowl. Primus, they'd have a conniption fit," the engineer replied, grinning.

Bluestreak snorted. "I'm not _that_ stupid—I've kept it from them this long, haven't I?"

"Mm-hmm," 'Jack agreed. "Y'know, we should probably get up off of the floor," he suggested mildly.

"Probably," the Datsun echoed, voice muffled in the engineer's shoulder. "I'm pretty happy right here, though," he added, pressing himself even tighter to Wheeljack's side. Eventually, however, he sighed and levered himself to his feet, pulling his lover up off of the floor with him.

As soon as the newly bonded mechs settled onto the berth, exhaustion and contentment dragged them down into the most peaceful recharge either had ever had.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Ratchet looked up from his inventory as Wheeljack wandered into the medbay, humming tunelessly as he fiddled with some contraption that he held in his hands.

"Morning, 'Jack," the CMO said warily, well aware that anything Wheeljack was working with had a tendency to explode, and he had no desire to rebuild the medbay, thank you very much.

"Oh! Morning, Ratch'," the engineer said cheerfully. "Morning, Sunstreaker," he nodded to the yellow mech, sitting on an empty berth near his bondmate with a bored expression. Sunstreaker smirked a little at Wheeljack's chipper mood and nodded back.

"You're feeling better," the CMO remarked. "I take it last night with Bluestreak went well?"

The engineer beamed at his friends. "I'd say it went better than well, actually," he said, earfins flickering bright blue in happiness.

Sunstreaker's smirk widened marginally and Ratchet could not hold back a grin of his own. "So you bonded with him, then?" the medic asked gleefully. At Wheeljack's nod Ratchet grabbed the Lancia up in an enthusiastic hug. "It's about slagging time!" The ambulance pulled back to glance around the 'bay. "Just where is Blue, anyway?"

"He's got comm duty with Jazz this morning," Wheeljack replied dryly. "I somehow got the feeling that Jazz arranged that on purpose just so that he could get all the juicy details before anyone else did." He cocked his head to the side as though listening and then snickered. "Oh—I was right," he said, optics crinkling with amusement.

Sunny laughed, drawing the other two mechs' attention to him. "Knowing Jazz, it'll be all over the Ark by noon," he observed. "Blue's not the only one that likes to gossip." He paused, then, as though it had just occurred to him, asked bluntly, "Does he talk as much in his head as he does out loud?"

Wheeljack snorted, ignoring Ratchet as his friend hissed the Lamborghini's name in mortification and annoyance. "More," he answered, vocal indicators flashing. "It takes some getting used to," he added ruefully. "I don't regret it, though."

"I don't think I could take it," Sunstreaker muttered. "I'd have to disable his vocalizer before the day was out."

"Be nice," Ratchet warned, narrowing his optics at his yellow bondmate. Sunny just gave him a bland look and didn't reply.

"He does tend to talk a lot," Wheeljack admitted mildly. "Or, er… constantly, actually." He shrugged. "It's kinda reassuring, really. As long as he's talking, I know there's nothing wrong with him. It's when he's quiet that I worry."

"Just figuring that out, are you?" Ratchet asked in a voice thick with sarcasm. In a gentler tone, he added, "So he told you what happened to him before he joined the Autobots, and why he talks so much?"

"Not in so many words, as odd as that may seem," Wheeljack replied. "But then, words aren't really necessary, are they?"

The medic's lips quirked upward in a small smile. "Not really, no," he murmured with a fond look toward Sunstreaker, who'd apparently lost interest in the conversation and found a rag somewhere to buff at some smudge, either real or imagined, on his armor. The Lamborghini glanced up at his bondmate with a crooked little half-smile before turning back to his obsessive polishing.

Wheeljack arched an optic ridge at the display; in a low voice, he asked, "How in the world do you put up with that narcissist?"

Ratchet sniffed in annoyance. "He has his redeeming qualities," he protested. "And you have to admit that he _is_ beautiful, even if he's far too aware of it for his own good," he added in thoughtful amusement.

"He's certainly pretty," Wheeljack agreed, chuckling. "Prettier by far than most anything else you've dragged home before, and you were such a promiscuous wretch," he couldn't resist teasing.

"Hey!" Ratchet exclaimed, and Sunstreaker chortled and puffed up arrogantly, proving that he was paying more attention to them than he let on. The medic made a show of ignoring them both, going back to sorting his inventory.

Wheeljack turned his nameless little device over in his hands restlessly, mindlessly tweaking this component or that as the silence grew. To his surprise, it was Sunstreaker that broke it.

"He's a clingy little glitch," the Lamborghini said quietly. "Sides and I learned that a long time ago. He needs reassurance all the time—think you can handle it?" He watched the engineer with sharp optics. The other two mechs in the room were abruptly reminded that the twins used to share Bluestreak's berth, and they realized that the pair still watched out for the young gunner. Sunstreaker, in his own way, wanted to be sure that Wheeljack could give Blue what he required.

"I know what he's like—and I can deal with it. He needs me," the Lancia said insistently, and the yellow twin subsided, seemingly satisfied. Ratchet, too, looked pleased as he raised his optics to meet his friend's gaze.

"That's good," the medic murmured. "I'd hate to see either of you unhappy, 'Jack. You both deserve to be happy." Ratchet began to say more, but he stopped when he recognized the particular far-away expression on the inventor's face. He waited patiently for the distant optics to refocus, and couldn't help but smile himself when Wheeljack's vocal indicators flashed cheerfully and his optics crinkled in such a way that the ambulance _knew_ he was grinning broadly beneath that mask.

"Hound just came in and took over his shift," he said excitedly. "Blue says that Prowl ran into him and told him what had happened, and that Hound said he deserved another day to 'get to know his bondmate better.' So he came in and relieved Blue and told him to get out of there." It was obvious that he was almost giddy at the thought—though it occurred to Ratchet that the engineer was most likely being heavily influenced by the gunner's emotions, as well.

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" Ratchet demanded, chuckling. "Scram, you!" Wheeljack didn't have to be told twice, rushing out of the medbay as though the Unmaker himself was on his heels. First Aid and Swoop entered right after their creator cleared the doorway, and they looked askance at Ratchet, who laughed outright at the looks on their faces.

"He made up with Bluestreak," the elder medic explained, and understanding dawned in the two youngsters' optics. They exchanged looks; Swoop grinned widely, and First Aid's expression brightened visibly.

"It about time," Swoop said happily, clapping his fellow apprentice on the shoulder and making him stagger. The Protectobot did not protest the rough treatment, merely nodded agreeably.

"I'll agree with Swoop," he said, as he collected the material Ratchet had set out for them to study for the day, and then, in a bout of playfulness that he'd never really displayed before, mimicked the Dinobot's cheerful voice. "'It about time.'" Ratchet could not help but laugh.


End file.
